Keep Me Warm
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Caryl, AU. Western. Life was hard. People could be cruel. Winter could be unbearable. But all Daryl needed was Carol to keep him warm.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: So this comes from a one shot (House of Eden) that some of you might have read. The one shot remains as a one shot, but it's been revamped to be the first chapter of this fic and to set the scene for what's to come in this story.**

 **The entire story has been planned out and, according to my planning, will be approximately 36 chapters long. It will have some involvement from other characters, but it will mostly be a Caryl centric fic.**

 **Warnings for some light smut and for adult themes.**

 **I own nothing from the Walking Dead.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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The dryness and the heat made the dust kick up easily from the road in clouds of red that seemed fully capable of choking the life out of Daryl as he walked just three steps behind his older brother. He'd probably followed Merle for ten or fifteen miles, but the sun made it feel like they'd crossed half of one of those biggest type desserts where men started to see things that weren't really there. Daryl was waiting, almost, for the moment when he might see something spring up in front of him that he was actually capable of walking right through. Maybe it would be a great waterfall or something. He'd never actually laid eyes on a waterfall—at least not one more impressive than the one about a foot high where Black Creek spilled over into Farmer's Mill Creek.

No great waterfalls appeared, though. Before Daryl could set his mind on waiting for one, he caught site of the profile of some of the buildings that sat just at the edge of town, the vision of them blurred slightly by the red dust that seemed to be kicked up by even the slightest breeze.

As Daryl walked, he was starkly aware of the jingle-jangle of his brother's pants as he swung his legs in front of him. He was walking along, smiling like a jackass at nothing and nobody that lived outside his head. Every now and again he said something that Daryl couldn't hear—or didn't care to hear—that simply drifted off into the dry air and got lost. Daryl's own pants likely jingled, but he couldn't hear them. He could only hear the click clacking of coins in his brother's pocket. His own pocket, though, felt heavy. It was weighed down with a week's worth of pay, mostly in coins but also with a couple pieces of folding money mixed in.

He'd never been with his brother on his day-off excursions before. His brother would regularly have him spend a week's pay in far less time than it took to earn it. Daryl was a little more frugal. But his brother, Merle, was going to some place he'd never been before and was dragging Daryl along this time. It was to make a man out of him—something long overdue according to Merle—and Daryl was going for the hell of it.

 _A house of ill-repute._

Daryl had heard it called that. He didn't much know what it meant though. Ill he knew. Ill he understood. Ill like a wet hen. Ill as a snake. There was also ill to say that you'd gone and got yourself sick. There was ill like went with tempered when someone had suddenly taken bad something that had been said or done.

But Daryl had no damn idea what a repute was and he had no real way of finding it out. Merle didn't know what it was either and Daryl wasn't likely going to ask another soul if Merle didn't know.

Besides, it didn't matter. Merle told him this place? This house of ill-repute? It didn't fit any of Daryl's definitions of ill because only great things happened there and nobody was even sick. Those women? They went to the doctors in town. They were healthier, more than likely, than any of the women even around them.

Merle called it, instead of a house of ill-repute, a house of dreams. It was damn near Eden built out of boards to hear Merle talk. And women? They'd be real nice to you. Just as nice as you wanted them to be, and all you had to do? Was pat a pocket. They'd especially be interested, Merle said, in pockets that weighed down one's pants like Daryl's pocket was doing at the moment.

And Daryl might spring two dollars for a real soft woman to be real nice to him. At least, he might just this one time. The only woman he was really around with any regularity, besides the old woman what lived in the farm house where Merle and Daryl kept a small room in the attic, was Loretta DuCann.

Loretta was neither soft, nor was she very nice. She'd made it clear to Daryl, and everyone else who was listening, that she wasn't interested in no roll-and-poke with nobody that weren't her lawfully wedded husband.

Daryl might have an itch to marry one day. He might want a wife and a house and land all his own—where he'd hire cowhands to live in his attic—but the last thing he was aiming to do was wed Loretta DuCann. No way, no how.

Daryl thought all these things as he walked along, three steps behind Merle, in the dry heat and choking dust of the early afternoon. He didn't say any of them out loud, though, because Merle might've called him foolish. Merle might've said he talked too damn much if he talked as much as he thought—and the job of talking too much was one that belonged singularly to Merle.

Daryl's thoughts carried him all the way to the wooden porch steps of the house—Eden as Merle had called it—and right up to the front door. As soon as they got there, the heavy red door swung open as though the woman standing in it had anticipated their arrival.

She was tall, blonde, and looked clean. She looked fresh out the bath clean. She was light skinned—no sun burn to be found and no peeling on her nose as was common for Loretta—and her blonde hair was fluffy and soft looking. She was painted up something dramatic, but Daryl was already a good bit more interested in this here Eden than he had been.

She was wearing a silky, brightly colored robe—not really what Daryl was used to seeing on a woman in the middle of the day—and she smiled at both of them as she leaned against the door frame.

"You boys don't look like officials," she commented.

Daryl didn't understand the reference, but Merle apparently did. He chuckled.

"Heard tell the sheriff don't exactly miss this place," Merle said.

The woman looked amused, some joke shared between them that Daryl didn't know if he even cared to understand, and she stepped aside and gestured them into the house. It was big. It was bigger than the farm house where Daryl and Merle stayed now. It was bigger than any one they'd stayed in before. But it was well-cared for too. This woman must be handy, or else she had someone who was.

As soon as they were inside the house, she closed the heavy red door behind them and Daryl was immediately aware of how much dirt they were tracking into the house. If she noticed it, though, she didn't say anything. She immediately slipped out of the robe that she was wearing, hung it on a hook beside the door, and stood there—half revealed to them—in the nicest looking pair of women's underbritches that Daryl had ever seen.

Merle smirked at her.

"We're lookin' for a couple of women," Merle said. "Never been here, but I know how it works. He don't."

The blonde glanced at Daryl and smiled. Somehow, he'd won her approval. She walked toward him, put her hand on his face, and trailed her thumb across his skin. He shivered at the touch, involuntarily, and then she looked even more pleased. She moved her fingers and scratched them lightly under his chin.

"Are you old enough to be in here?" She asked, raising her eyebrows at him. He wondered how old she was. She didn't look that old to him, but he knew that she was what Merle called a Madame, even if he didn't know the age a woman had to hit to go from being a Ma'am to a Madame. "You don't look hardly old enough to shave. You sure you've got more than peach fuzz?"

She was joshing him now. He could tell. But he couldn't respond because his mouth was dry from the dust outside and from the very fact that this blonde—who smelled like honeysuckle perfume and peppermint—was stirring up something that he hadn't expected to have woken up quite so early. He was trying to will it to behave until it was time.

"He's been off the teat goin' on at least twenty-two years," Merle said. "But ain't never got back on one—you catch my drift."

The woman looked amused again.

"I'm Miss Andrea," she said, self-identifying as a Miss and not a Madame, her comment directed as much to Merle as to Daryl. "We have rules here. Nothing rowdy unless you ask for it ahead of time. You pay for what you get and you ask for what you want. Anybody gets out of line? I'll have you out of here so fast you'll hardly bring your dick with you. We got all kinds of girls here that do all kinds of things, but not all of them do everything. You order what you want up front."

Daryl was intimidated just by that.

"What do you do, sugar?" Merle asked, practically licking his lips in anticipation.

Miss Andrea looked at him.

"I do what you pay for," Miss Andrea responded. "It's more expensive. The more...experience? The more...skill the girl has? The higher her cost. What you want, too, changes your price."

She looked back at Daryl.

"But for you? I like them first time out," Miss Andrea said. "I can be real nice when I want to be. Easy. A dollar special for the first time out."

Daryl could barely swallow. If he wasn't intimidated before, he was intimidated now. He didn't have anything against the blonde, not really, but he was suddenly sure that he didn't want to spend his dollar with her. She was put together just fine—every part seemed right where it ought to be—but Daryl wasn't sure that he was up to snuff for a woman like her. And, luckily for him, Merle already had a taste in his mouth.

"I got money," Merle barked, catching her attention and letting it be known that he didn't like being ignored. When she looked at him, Merle's face broke into a smile. "And I was—hoping easy wasn't gonna be what you was interested in."

She smiled at Merle again, nodded her head, and then turned back to Daryl.

"What do you want?" She asked him. "If you—could pick what you wanted? What would you want? What kinda girl fits your dreams for the big day?"

Daryl almost choked trying to swallow, but he got it down. He glanced at Merle and got a nod with a warning look. He shouldn't fuck this up for them by getting his words hung in his throat. The Miss-Madame might not care for a stuttering cowhand.

"Soft," Daryl said.

"Soft?" She echoed. Daryl nodded.

"Pretty and soft," Daryl said.

She nodded gently at him.

"And nice," Daryl added quickly, remembering his own requirements that he'd thought about as he'd walked along from the farmhouse to here. "Real nice like to me."

Miss Andrea laughed quietly.

"All my girls are nice," she said. "Real nice. But—I think I've got just the one. Come with me. I'll show you to a room. Get comfortable, but don't touch the sheets with your clothes on. That's a rule too."

Daryl followed her, watching her ass sway as he went. He assumed—because she hadn't said it was a rule—that the watching was free.

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Daryl had taken the suspenders off that were holding up his pants—weighed down by all the coins that he'd soon be lightened of—and he'd peeled off his shirt. While he was waiting, he'd also taken off his shoes, looked around for a moment and finally opened the window just a crack to pour the dirt out of them and into the street from which it came instead of covering the floors with it, and he'd peeled off the socks that he was wearing. His pants? He left those on. He didn't know how comfortable he was supposed to be, after all.

Merle frequented these places. From what he'd heard tell? His father had too. It was only by some streak of luck—good or bad was up to the person considering it—that he and Merle had been planted in his mother and not in the belly of some whore. That's what Merle always said—for as much as they knew? There might be two dozen more Dixons running around with no idea who they were.

When the door to his room finally opened, a woman with a veritable mop of curly red hair—a pile of it that would've rivaled that of Miss Andrea—came in carrying a pitcher and bowl. Daryl rushed ahead to catch the door for her and keep it from falling shut on her, but it closed so quickly that there was no need for the rush and he really just ended up embarrassing himself slightly with his clumsy stumbling forward.

The redhead didn't seem to notice at first. She put the bowl on the table, poured the water from the pitcher into it, and came up from a drawer in the dresser with a towel, rag, and a cake of soap. Then she turned and looked at him, sincerely, for the first time.

She was pretty and she was soft. Her eyes were nice and she carried her shoulders rolled slightly forward, different than Miss Andrea, in a way that made her less intimidating. She didn't look, either, as comfortable in the black strap-and-lace get up that she was wearing. But, even if she didn't look as comfortable, she looked every bit as well put together.

She offered him a soft smile.

"You're handsome," she drawled, her accent a little thicker than Miss Andrea's—even if Daryl knew he had no room to criticize someone's accent. His own was one reason he seldom let anyone know what he was thinking. He blushed slightly at the compliment.

"You're pretty," he said. "I wanted that. Soft and pretty," Daryl said. Suddenly he didn't know if he should tell her she was what he'd wanted, but he couldn't take it back now. "And nice," he added.

She smiled.

"I'm Carol," she said. "And I'm very nice. As nice as you can ever want."

Daryl felt comforted by that.

"Daryl," he said.

Carol nodded at him.

"You can bathe yourself, or I can do it for you," Carol said. "As you like."

Daryl looked at the bowl of water and the washrag and soap in the woman's hands. She offered it to him and he took it.

"I don't think I ordered a bath," he said.

Carol smiled.

"Everybody gets one," she said. "It's just one of the little perks we offer. You—uh—you got whatever you want. Double the time."

Daryl furrowed his brow at her and she laughed quietly.

"First time special," she added.

Daryl blushed red.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Carol shook her head.

"Don't be," she said. "I—like it. I already like you. There's no sorry here. Nothing to be sorry for. And I know how to keep a confidence if there's any to be kept."

By the time that Daryl got out of his pants and started to wash, he'd had to apologize—even though Carol had insisted there was no need in it—at least twice more. He was obviously very excited by what was to come and he was embarrassed by the fact that he thought he was a little too excited. Maybe it was a little too early. Maybe she'd be offended that he was thinking about her already—that he was looking at the pout of her lips and the curves of her body.

But she said she was flattered. And she sat on the edge of the bed, picking at the black stockings she wore, and watching him while he bathed.

When he finished, turning himself around for bath-inspection as though she'd pull his ears and check behind them the way he remembered his mama doing it when he was a kid, she stood up and came over. Her hands touched his shoulders—soft and cool—and her lips touched his. They were equally soft. He felt thirsty, but this time it wasn't quite the thirst for water that it had been earlier.

"Do you want to take this off me?" She asked. "Or—did you want me to take it off?"

Daryl couldn't speak at the moment and shook his head. It meant nothing, really, but he was glad that she seemed to understand what he was trying to say. He didn't want to try to find his way around all the hooks and straps and everything else. It was nice enough wrapping, but it wasn't the wrapping that interested him. She took herself out of it.

Daryl had seen a woman or two naked—mostly on accident—but never one that looked like her.

"You can touch me," she said softly and with a good deal of reassurance. "As much as you want. How you want. I won't mind it."

With the extra push, Daryl did touch her, though he hesitated before he reached a hand toward her breast and rubbed his thumb over her nipple. When it responded to him, though, in its own way, he did the same to the other side. Some response, after all, must indicate interest—waking them up seemed much like what happened to him, though on a smaller level. He didn't need much waking up right now.

He moved and nuzzled at her face and she turned and caught his lips again, this time turning the soft kiss from before into something that nearly took his breath away. Her tongue and her teeth did things to him that he'd never felt before as she nipped at his lips and licked them soothed from the sting. By the time that she moved her hand down to stroke him? Daryl did the unthinkable. He did the unimaginable. He did the most embarrassing thing that ever a man had done in a house of ill-repute.

And his face burned fire hot for it, his burning embarrassment taking over even his pleasure at her touch.

He used to cry a lot as a kid. He knew it, not because he remembered it, but because Merle jerked him around about it. Merle said he was a cry baby. He forgave him only his tears on the day their Mama had died. Those were the only tears that Daryl remembered—and maybe he only remembered them because he recalled it as the only time he'd ever seen his brother cry. It had been the only time that it was alright for a man to cry, as Daryl had learned it.

Right now, though? Daryl wanted to cry, even if he bit it back.

Carol looked unmoved, though. She maybe even looked pleased. Without saying anything or indicating that Daryl should be ashamed, she returned to the bowl and washed herself up where he'd dirtied her with his inability to control himself. Then she brought the rag over and gently washed him—like she didn't even see any reason for embarrassment. Like it didn't even seem out of the ordinary.

"Get into bed?" She asked. "It's nicer there."

Daryl did get into the bed, still getting over his mortification, and Carol followed him. The bed there was ten times as soft as any he'd ever slept in before. In comparison, his little cot in the farmhouse attic felt like a slab. He might've paid a dollar just to sleep in the bed.

But this was better, because Carol came right on in after him and she sided up to him, rubbing his chest and kissing his jaw as she did.

He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to ask her how she got to living in a house of ill-repute. He wanted to ask her if, since she lived there, she might know what the hell a repute was since nobody else seemed to know besides the man that had said the phrase when Daryl had heard it. He wanted to ask her how she knew Miss Andrea and if Carol was a Ma'am or a Madame or a Miss since he wasn't quite sure how such titles might be determined.

But he thought too much, and if he said out loud everything he thought about? He'd talk too much. And this wasn't for talking. That's what Merle would tell him. The things that happened here? They were wonderful, but they weren't talking. Here? You didn't have to talk at all.

And it seemed to be true enough.

Before Daryl knew it, Carol had stroked him to the point that he'd stopped thinking almost as suddenly as he seemed to start a new idea.

And he was waking up again.

"How'd you get here?" Daryl asked.

Carol frowned at him and quickly replaced it with a smile.

"Livin' here?" Daryl clarified, determined to at least know something about this woman if he was doing with her what he knew he was supposed to do with a lawfully wedded wife.

She smiled, but this time it looked more genuine.

"Miss Andrea saved my life," Carol said. "It's the best place I could hope to live now."

Daryl didn't really understand, but he realized that maybe that was her point. She'd answered him, like a nice girl would, but she wasn't interested in talking about much more.

To prove she wasn't interested in too much conversation? She straddled him. Sitting perched above him, her wet heat driving him to wake up even more, she rubbed his chest and lowered herself to him so that they fell into the kissing they'd been doing before—the kissing that sent a throbbing sensation through Daryl.

And then she lifted herself and guided him into her. She wrapped around him, all at once, and she smiled at him when he was overtaken with the sensation to the point that he couldn't think for a moment. She moved her body, and his moved with her without him even planning to do it, to create a feeling of friction that was so good it made the back of Daryl's throat ache with damn near the desire to cry about how much he liked it.

She stopped as suddenly as she started the action, though, and pulled her body free of his. He caught her hips, confused by what she was doing. He stammered out his protest and she quickly reassured him.

"I'm just changing positions," she said. "You'll be in charge."

She flipped onto her back, dramatically opening herself to him as though to prove to him that she wasn't really going anywhere.

He hung over her now and shook his head gently.

"I don't think I know what to do," Daryl said. "At least—not doin' it right."

She laughed quietly at him.

"You can't do it wrong," she said. "As long as you find the spot? Get it in? Do what feels good to you. That's all the right there is."

Daryl's knowledge of how this worked said she was right. He didn't know much about sex beyond the crude stories told in loud voices and with barking laughter of the men that he'd been around in his life, but he got the idea that it was, essentially, an in and out process—and that was his job. The in and the out.

The third time that he mastered the out, though, and failed to be very good at the in? Carol caught his hips and shook her head at him.

"You don't have to come all the way out," she said, wrapping her legs around him as though to limit his movement a little. "Just—go as far as feels good to you. It'll feel real good to me. Promise."

Daryl tried to follow her instruction. There was, he thought, a great deal to pay attention to—assuming he was supposed to pay attention to everything—but she didn't seem at all bothered. She rubbed one of her hands between them, her eyelids fluttering a little, and she scratched at his back and side with the other hand.

Soon he forgot to pay attention to anything more than his own feelings and the fluttering of her eyelids—sometimes wide open and staring at him, sometimes harder to see as she moved with him. When she opened her mouth at him, like she was shocked or scared and might scream, but no sound came out? She did something to him that made him reach his own ending with more enthusiasm than he had before when he'd made a mess of her.

This time, he was sure the mess was there, but it wasn't running down her.

She lie there, under him, for a moment. She pulled him down to her and kissed him again as he moved his hips—involuntarily still—milking out the last bit of pleasure before he slipped from her. She rubbed his face, rubbed her fingers in the edge of his hair.

She smiled at him, softly, and treated him as nicely as he thought that he'd expect any wife he might have to treat him—as wives would, he was sure.

But then it was over. Too quickly for him. He considered offering her a dollar more for a second time special, but he never got around to it. That might not be how this worked. Daryl didn't know how it worked, after all, and Miss Andrea had said that he had to order stuff up front—and he'd just ordered the one time, never realizing how bad he'd want another time or two.

Carol rolled out of the bed and went to the bowl, washing herself up before she offered him the rag again. He took it, reluctant to even leave the bed. He was suddenly overtaken with a sadness that he couldn't explain. He was suddenly as choked by the feeling that had come over him as he ever had been by the dry dust of the street outside.

She pulled herself back into what she'd been wearing, stretching and clipping and adjusting as she went, and she offered Daryl a soft smile every now and again as he put his own clothes back on.

He thanked her softly, not sure if he should or not, and she nodded at him and continued to give him the soft smiles.

"You don't have to be sad, ya know?" She said to him, finally. He felt struck that it seemed she'd read his mind—she'd done that more than once. She shook her head slightly. "Don't be sad. Hold onto what you felt before. It's what I do."

Daryl was starting to believe this house really was Eden. But if it was? He was surely being cast out. He'd have given a week's pay. Two or three even. He'd have gone without most anything he'd considered a pleasure before, just to stay there, in that soft bed, with Carol—pretty, soft, and nice to him.

But there was nothing to do but accept his fate and go. At least—and he was holding onto this—he could come back. With or without Merle, though convincing his brother to return wouldn't be difficult, he could come back.

And she'd still be here. Looking as much like an angel as she did at the minute—though Daryl had never seen an honest to God angel, he couldn't imagine they'd be too much different than her—and she'd be waiting for him. Just for him.

Money he could get. And money could get him her. Enough might even make her wed him if he wanted. Money, he'd heard tell, couldn't buy happiness. But if it could buy Carol? It was close enough by Daryl's figuring.

When he left the room, he found Merle chatting with Miss Andrea. She looked clean and just as well put together as she had when they'd got there. The only way that Daryl even knew that anything had happened outside his room was that Merle was clean too—one of those free baths doing him more good than harm for sure—and Merle was rarely ever clean.

At the door, they paid their tabs, Carol and Miss Andrea standing by, and Daryl—usually tight with his income because someone had to be—barely even noticed the money that was changing hands. He just watched as Miss Andrea passed Carol her share and Carol smiled at the coins.

And both women offered final kisses—sealing the deal that had been done—to Merle and Daryl before Carol walked off into the house somewhere where the other girls were hidden for the moment and Miss Andrea slipped back into her robe and opened the heavy red door.

"Come on back, whenever you please," Miss Andrea said to them, but Daryl barely heard her as he followed Merle down the steps and into the dry, hot, dusty street again. The walk home, with as heavy as his feet were feeling—reluctant to leave the house—was going to be twice as long as the walk there.

Merle seemed on top of the world, though.

"Sweet lil' piece you got'cha, boy," Merle crowed. "Good for ya?"

Daryl hummed, insincerely.

"Comin' back to Eden, boy?" Merle asked.

Daryl hummed again.

"See? Ain't no house of ill-repute," Merle called out. "Ain't not a damn thing ill about it."

Daryl swallowed, thinking about the heaviness in his chest and stomach at the moment, and he thought, maybe, he knew now what a repute might be. A lot of good happened in that house—so much more than he'd imagined—but the ill? The repute, maybe? Came at the exact moment that you were cast out of Eden.

And you had to leave an angel behind.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **There's a graphic description of a rotting animal in the first two paragraphs, just in case you're squeamish about those things. If you watch TWD, though, then it's really nothing that you haven't seen in Technicolor before.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl had a memory of walking through some woods once and stumbling upon the mostly-rotted carcass of a deer. Whether the animal had died of natural causes or had been lost after he'd been shot by a hunter, Daryl could have never known. Most of his hide was missing and he'd been dinner to what had likely been a hungry coyote. The sight of something like that hadn't been shocking or even surprising to Daryl. Everything that lived was part of one big chain and that chain meant that things were always killing and eating other things. It was the natural way of life.

What had stuck with Daryl, in particular, about the deer that he'd come up upon—so close he remembered that it hadn't hardly smelled and he'd almost put his foot in it—was that when he got down close to look at it and identify what it once had been, he'd seen that a number of things were inside the skull. A number of worms and bugs and beetles and creatures he didn't even bother to identify were crawling around inside the skull and they were eating the brain of the deer that had fallen.

They were eating up the deer's mind as surely as the coyote had eaten much of the rest of the deer.

For some reason or another—because Daryl never understood why minds worked the way they did—the image of that deer being eaten up all the way to his brain had stuck with Daryl through his life.

And now he felt like he was that deer.

Except it wasn't bugs and beetles and worms and other creatures that were working together to eat away everything he'd ever thought. It was just one woman.

Daryl felt consumed by Carol. He felt consumed by the thought of her. Thoughts of her were eating away his brain until he couldn't think of anything else except her face. He couldn't think of anything else except how soft and nice she was and how sweet she smelled—like soap and flowers. He couldn't think of anything else except getting back to the house of ill-repute and back to her.

He'd have handed over every dollar he ever earned just to get back to her and it was becoming clear that he wasn't going to ever sleep again—not if he didn't get back there.

Daryl rolled out of the bed, almost feeling like he was choking with the urgency of responding to the demands that his brain was making at the most forsaken hour of the night, and helped himself to a glass of the water that they kept up in their attic room in a pitcher. The water was warm and a little sour. It was stale and tasted like the smell of the room. It did very little to quench Daryl's thirst and it did nothing to help the crawling insects that had taken over his brain.

"Hell you doin', lil' brotha?" Merle slurred out, barely within the realm of consciousness.

"Can't sleep," Daryl responded, his own voice coming out hoarse.

"Knew that, if'n you weren't walkin' around in your sleep," Merle responded. "Hell's got you up? You sick?"

The attic room had a small window that Daryl could get his head out of if he'd really tried. It stood open all the time to let some air into the space so they didn't suffocate to death in their sleep. Daryl walked over to the little window and poked his face out of it. There wasn't a breeze and the still air wasn't exactly cooling.

"Think I got worms in my brain," Daryl said. "Bugs'n the like."

Daryl heard the shrieking squeak of the unoiled coils under Merle's bed as his whole weight shifted suddenly. Merle must've made it to his feet in one solid move because the next sound was his shuffling around in the dark. He bumped into one thing after another, blinded by the night.

"Hell you talkin' about?" Merle spat, finally finding Daryl.

Merle's hands searched out Daryl's face in the darkness like he was blind. There wasn't any light anywhere except for the moon and stars and they weren't very bright tonight. The night was clouded over. Still, Daryl had spent most the night awake so his eyes were well adjusted to his surroundings. He held his breath and tolerated his brother's blind searching of his features, the calluses on his hands scratching him as he looked him over.

"Got you a fever?" Merle asked. "Damn soaked."

"Wet with sweat," Daryl said. "Hot as hell up here. Ain't nothin' new. Ain't slept dry since we moved in here. But I don't got no fever. Not no damn fever like you lookin' for."

"What other kinda fever you workin' on, brotha?" Merle asked.

Daryl sucked in a breath. If Merle hadn't sounded genuinely concerned, he wouldn't have bothered to answer him at all. Merle could give Daryl hell about just about anything, and that was particularly true when it came to the realm of feelings.

But Merle was just about the only person that Daryl had. He was his older brother, but since their mama had died—when Daryl was no more than a snotty nosed kid—Merle had damned near been Daryl's mother too. He was the one that had gotten them this far. He was the one that got them the job they had on the farm.

And everything that Daryl knew, he learned from Merle. Even if he didn't know a whole lot, he knew what he did know from Merle.

"What's it take to get married Merle?" Daryl asked. "What—you gotta do? What you gotta have to get you a wife?"

Merle was quiet enough that Daryl might think that he'd left if he couldn't see the blacker-than-night outline of him standing there. After a second, he laughed low and long in his throat.

"I knew it was gonna happen one day," Merle said. "Boy such as you is always set on gettin' himself hitched. Yeah—reckon I knowed it was gonna up an' happen one day. Who the hell you got your sights set on, Derlina? 'Cause Loretta Ducann's old man ain't gonna be happy to see her marryin' up no Dixon. We ain't got no kinda reputation around these parts."

"We ain't got no reputation nowhere," Daryl responded quickly. And it was true. They'd left Georgia with a group that was headed out to settle some unclaimed territory out west. At the time, Daryl didn't even know that "West" wasn't a state just like Georgia. They'd found someone to pay their way and, in return, they'd worked off their fare when they'd arrived. After that? That's when they'd found steady work at the farm. Food, board, and some pocket money—but it didn't come with a reputation. If anything, it came with a way to leave behind the legacy their old man had made for himself back in Georgia.

Dixons weren't the kind of folks you wanted around—but they didn't know that out here. Out here, they could start over. "And it ain't her. It ain't Loretta."

"Damn, brotha," Merle teased in the darkness. "How many women you got around to choose from? Loretta's the only one I even seen around here except Miss Jo. I know it ain't one of Hershel's daughters. He'd skin you alive as quick as look at you for some shit like that."

Daryl knew that the Greene girls were so off limits to him and Merle both that they were best considered not to even be women. They were extensions of the farmer and his wife. Nothing more. The girls lived and worked on the farm, but they weren't free to step out with anyone. At least, they weren't free to step out with anyone without their parents' say-so in the matter.

"Ain't them," Daryl said.

"You gonna tell me who the hell it is?" Merle asked.

"Didn't ask you for your opinion on her," Daryl said. "Asked you what the hell it takes to get married. What you need, Merle? For a wife. What you need?"

"You don't need nothin' for some wives," Merle said. "Get her swollen up with a kid and she's all yours. But you need money. Place to live. Same damn thing you need for yourself but twice as much. Now if she was Loretta? Or one of them farm girls? You gotta have you a reputation. More money than your ass ever sees."

"I got money," Daryl said. "I can get more."

"How much you got, Daryl?" Merle asked.

Daryl shook his head, even though he knew his brother couldn't see it in the darkness. Merle couldn't hold onto money any better than he could hold onto water. As soon as it touched his hands it went right out of them. Daryl didn't even know how he managed to spend all the money that he made, but it was always gone. His pockets were empty every time he put a hand out to accept to his pay. The only reason they'd made it out here, honestly, was because the fare they had to pay for help in crossing the distance had never touched their hands.

Daryl, on the other hand, was frugal. He was careful with his money. He knew that somebody had to be and he knew that, one day, he might want the money for something. He might want it for something important.

And if money was what it took to get Carol to be his own wife, then that was about the most important thing that his worm-and-bug consumed brain could think of at the moment.

"Got enough, I reckon," Daryl said. "If it ain't? I can get more."

Merle hummed at him.

"You dead set on this?" Merle asked. "Gettin' married?" Daryl hummed in affirmation. "You know what that means, brother? Means—if you doin' it all the way? Means you ain't never rid of her ass until the day she up and dies. Means she gets to riding you and you just gotta take it."

Daryl shrugged his shoulders, another gesture that he was sure that his brother didn't see, and hummed again.

"I'm gonna marry her," Daryl said. "Soon as tomorrow if I can. Go and get her with sun-up."

Merle snorted.

"Who the hell's this mystery bride you picked you out, Daryl?" Merle asked. He was quiet for a moment, but when he realized that Daryl wasn't going to answer him, he pressed a little more. "I ain't gonna yank you around," Merle said sincerely. "Just wanna know. Don't want you settin' your sights too high and then she don't let you know easy that she won't marry you. She don't tell you like I would that your ass ain't good enough for her."

"That's the thing," Daryl said. "I ain't good enough for her. But—if she'd let me? I'd sure try to be."

Merle hummed.

"Your brain ain't eat up with worms," Merle said. "But you sure been bit by somethin'. Who is it what's got you where you don't sleep?"

"Carol," Daryl said. It felt strange to say her name out loud. It felt strange to confess his feelings to Merle. He'd been holding it inside. He was holding her inside him. Even her name felt like it was something special. It felt like he wouldn't want to hear it on the wrong lips.

"Carol?" Merle asked. "Who's Carol? I don't know no Carol."

"From Eden," Daryl said. "Carol. She's who I aim to marry."

Merle was unnaturally quiet for a moment, and then he laughed to himself.

"The whore?" He asked.

Daryl hadn't expected mention of Carol's current profession to make him cringe quite so much. Lucky for him, his brother couldn't make out his expression in the darkness.

"She ain't no whore for long," Daryl said. "When I marry her? She'll be my wife. My own wife."

Merle laughed again.

"Whores don't make wives, Daryl," Merle said. "They two different things. They's whores and they's wives, but they ain't whores that's wives."

"When she marries me, she'll be my wife," Daryl said. "Nothin' more, nothin' less. She won't be no whore no more. Just my wife."

"You can't marry a whore, Daryl," Merle said. "They just ain't wives. They ain't good for that. They're good for whorin'. They're good for doin' just what we done with 'em. But they ain't for marryin'. Just ain't, boy. You set on getting you a wife? Get you one what's suited for bein' a wife."

Daryl shook his head at his brother's opinion.

"There ain't nobody else, Merle," Daryl said. "It's her. There ain't nobody else that's made for me. Gotta be her."

"But it can't be," Merle said. "No more'n you can marry Maggie Greene. She's just a whore, Daryl. That's all."

"There some law about it?" Daryl asked. "Sheriff gonna come and lock me up if I go after her? Marry her? 'Cause I ain't got no roots here. Ain't got no roots nowhere. I could leave with her. Find me a wagon—go where they don't know she was never no whore."

Merle sucked his teeth.

"Settle down, brotha. There ain't no law about it," Merle said. "Not that I know of. Not no written down law. But whores don't marry men. And men don't marry whores. They got no kinda reputation in the town. Bring down whoever they with. Hell—they don't even let 'em come in some places, Daryl. Don't even let 'em step foot in the door. Prob'ly wouldn't nobody even marry you together if you tried."

Daryl shook his head again.

"She can't bring me down, Merle," Daryl said. "There ain't nowhere for us to go but up from here. We ain't worth a pound of manure. You and me? We ain't worth the salt in our sweat. She can't bring me down no way. And if they don't let her in some place? It ain't a place I gotta go. I just as soon stay home—and she's gonna make me one of them. When I marry her, Merle? She's gonna make me a home that I can stay in. A place where she's welcome too."

"All she's gonna know how to make is a whorehouse, Daryl," Merle said. "Prob'ly all she knows. Listen—your prick's itchin' for it that bad then we'll go back there. I'd like me another poke with that Andrea. But that's what they're good for. Go back and get you what you want, but you leave the whores where they is."

"Not Carol," Daryl said. "You gonna try to stop me if I do? If I go back and tell her I aim to marry her?"

"I ain't gonna stop you, brother," Merle said sincerely. "But—don't be surprised if she don't wanna marry you. I'm tellin' you, it just ain't what them women do. It ain't what they was made for. If they was? They wouldn'ta been whores."

"Not Carol," Daryl said. "She ain't happy there. That ain't her place. She's a whore, but she ain't a whore. You gonna see, Merle. You gonna see that she's gonna marry me. And if money is all I need? I got that. I ain't afraid of work. I can get more of it. If that's all I need? I'ma marry Carol."

"You serious, Daryl?" Merle asked.

"More'n I ever been about anything," Daryl assured him.

"Then you best talk to Hershel tomorrow," Merle said. "Money's all fine and well. But you gotta have somethin' more'n that to make a home with that woman. She ain't gonna live in this attic with us. If she marries your ass at all."

"She'll marry me," Daryl said. "She's gotta marry me."

Merle hummed, but he'd given up whatever fight he'd tried to start with Daryl over the whole thing.

"She might," Merle said, though there was little belief behind the words. "But now? You and me's gotta get some sleep. Them damn cows ain't gonna go easy on your ass just because you got whore-worms in the brain."


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I've had people ask me before in other stories, so I'll address it now in case it needs to be addressed. Is Daryl stupid? No. Is he a simple man? Yes. Is he uneducated? Absolutely. But he's not stupid. It'll become clear as we go through this story that none of the characters are really formally educated. Daryl is one of the least educated of them all as far as formal education goes. However, that does not mean he's stupid or incapable in the slightest. It's simply that his life never allowed for a formal education.**

 **I hope you all enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl choked down the biscuits and ham that he had for lunch in a matter of minutes and washed the whole mess down with as much water as he felt his body would hold. With what was left of his break to eat, he'd crossed the span of ground between where he was working in the barns and where Hershel was out looking over some of his stock. The old man was more approachable than Daryl's last boss—the man who'd paid their fare from Georgia to the big state of "West"—and he was a good deal more approachable than the man that Daryl remembered as having been his old man.

Hershel was so approachable, in fact, that he and his wife sometimes let Merle and Daryl come down from the attic to eat their dinner at the big table in his house where they all sat around and passed plates heaped with food back and forth to each other like they were family. He told Daryl stories about God and Jesus and things that his mother had talked about sometimes when he was growing up. And he read to them from a big black book that told them stories about how they could be good people and about how he'd become good people when his wife had helped him figure out he was sliding down some kind of slope toward the opposite.

Hershel claimed his wife had saved his life and saved his home after the death of his first wife—a fine lady no doubt—had almost caused Hershel to lose everything he'd worked so hard to build. Hershel understood wives and he understood, Daryl could imagine, worms in the brain that would keep him so unfocused that he'd burned himself that morning on a branding iron that he knew was hot.

Hershel would understand that Daryl needed to go and get Carol to make her his own wife and, having gotten two wives of his own, he would know exactly what it was that Daryl needed to make sure he was bringing her back with him.

As Daryl approached Hershel, Hershel held a hand up to him to let him know that he didn't want him to come any closer because the heifer he was looking at was one of the more skittish that they had on the farm. Daryl kept his distance, waited Hershel out, and then greeted him with a solid nod of the head when Hershel approached him in turn.

"Something I can help you with, Daryl?" Hershel asked.

"Actually, there is," Daryl said.

"Go ahead," Hershel said, prompting Daryl to continue speaking when he fell off to wonder how exactly he should present things to the man.

"I wanna get married," Daryl said, deciding that there wasn't any way to present things to Hershel other than to simply lay them out there in plain English. If Hershel was surprised at all, his expression didn't give it away.

"To anyone in particular?" Hershel asked. Daryl nodded his head in response. "Who's the young lady?"

"Carol," Daryl said.

"Carol?" Hershel asked. "Carol who, Daryl?"

Daryl shook his head.

"She don't got a last name," Daryl said. "At least—I don't know it."

Hershel laughed to himself.

"If you don't even know her last name, son, then I'm not sure it's time to be considering something as serious as marriage. How long have you known her? Where do you know her from?"

Daryl swallowed and it hung in his throat like his spit was more than just liquid.

"Known her long enough," Daryl said. "We already done the things that's fit for doin' with a wife."

Hershel raised his eyebrows at Daryl.

"I see," Hershel said. "Well—depending on who the young lady is, some would say you've got an obligation to marry her, son. If you've had relations with her?"

Daryl nodded his head.

"I aim to do just that," Daryl said. "Marry her, I mean. Done done the other."

"And you want me to talk to her father?" Hershel asked. "On your behalf? Is that what you're asking?"

Daryl shook his head at Hershel.

"She ain't got no father," Daryl said. "Not one that I know of."

"Daryl, I'm starting to wonder about what kind of young lady you've found yourself if she doesn't have a last name and she doesn't have a father," Hershel said. "Where does this young lady—this Carol—where does she live?"

Daryl gnawed his lip.

"That's the thing," Daryl said. "She lives at this house in town. She ain't got no parents like me but...this Miss Andrea? I reckon she's like her ma."

"A whore, Daryl?" Hershel asked.

Daryl felt the blood rush to his face in the familiar sensation that he'd felt the night before when Merle had mentioned Carol's current profession. It was a job, just like any other job. That's what Daryl told himself. She needed money, just like he needed money, and she needed a roof over her head. Maybe, like Daryl, she didn't have a real education and she didn't have family to take care of her. She was doing what she had to do. That's what they all did. It didn't mean they had to like everything that they did, it just meant that they had to do it.

Finally, Daryl nodded his head slightly.

"Just until I marry her," Daryl offered. "Then she ain't gonna be no whore because she's gonna be my wife. And wives don't be whores too."

Hershel laughed to himself and Daryl was almost offended by the sound. It was as though he didn't believe Daryl.

"Whores don't marry, son," Hershel offered. "And decent young men don't marry whores. You shouldn't even be visiting a house of ill-repute like that. Less likely planning on marrying one of the whores. That's Merle's poor influence."

Daryl shook his head. He almost felt like there were tears coming up in his eyes. He could feel the pressure inside his skull that either signaled that he was fighting crying—something that was hardly ever right for a man to do but that plagued him something awful when it was all too much—or that the worms that were eating his brain were trying to get out through his eyeballs. At the moment, he was praying for worms.

"Beg pardon," Daryl said, "but she's gonna marry me. And I'm gonna marry her."

Hershel stared at him somewhat intensely. He nodded his head, finally, at Daryl.

"You really got yourself set on making an honest woman out of this woman?" Hershel asked. "Making an honest woman out of Carol?"

Daryl nodded his head.

"More'n I ever been set on anything," Daryl confirmed. "Beg pardon but...I didn't come here for your permission. I come here to ask you a question."

"What's your question, Daryl?" Hershel asked.

"What do I need to get a wife?" Daryl asked. "I got money. I got almost every dollar you've ever paid me and some of what extra I earned before. What else do I gotta have to get a wife?"

"Taking on a wife is a big responsibility, Daryl," Hershel said. "You need somewhere to live. You need a steady source of income. You need some prospects for a future if you're going to offer her one. Most women aren't going to marry a man who has nothing but his name."

Daryl shook his head.

"I don't even got that," Daryl said. "Not one that's worth nothin'. All I got is money. But if money can buy me what I need? Then you tell me what I need and I'll get it bought."

Hershel considered Daryl's face for a moment and Daryl held his eyes even though he had the uncomfortable desire to look away. Hershel nodded his head at Daryl again and hummed before he finally chose to speak.

"Let me ask you a question, Daryl," Hershel said. Daryl nodded his acceptance of whatever question the old man might have. "Why do you want to marry this woman? Do you love her?"

Daryl swallowed. It was finally time for him to break the hold that his eyes had on the old man. He looked at his feet and he looked at the dirt between them. He watched a big black ant that was making its way across the ground carrying dirt to wherever it was headed. Maybe the ant had a wife. Maybe he was building her a home with the dirt that he was hauling from a ridiculous distance away.

"I don't know a lot about love," Daryl said. "But I know she give me worms on the brain—and I gotta make 'em be still. And they ain't gonna be still until she says she's gonna be my wife for every day we got from here on out."

"Worms on the brain, Daryl?" Hershel asked.

"Thinkin' about her," Daryl said. "Thinkin' about makin' her my wife. The thoughts are crawling around in my brain. Just like worms and bugs. I can't think of nothin' else. Didn't sleep last night or the night before. They kept me up. Kept me awake wondering how I was gonna make it so. And I know that I ain't gonna think of nothin' else until I don't gotta think of that no more. Until she's marryin' me."

"Do you know what that means, Daryl?" Hershel asked. "To have a wife?"

Daryl nodded his head.

"Think I do," Daryl said.

"Do you know what that requires of you?" Hershel asked. "If you're doing it right? Are you ready for that? Are you ready to give her—everything that requires? To love her until the day that one of you dies? To take care of her and give her everything she needs? Everything that you can give her?"

"I don't know much about love," Daryl admitted, "but I could learn all that she needed me to learn. I learn easy, Hershel. Learn quick. You said it yourself. And if money's what she needs? If it's somethin' I can buy her with money? I can work for money. My hands are good for that and I'm quick to learn whatever I gotta learn. I can work to get her money for what she needs. Just want her there."

"And what do you want from her, Daryl?" Hershel asked.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"Want her to be there," Daryl said. "She's gonna be my wife, so she'll do wife jobs. Make me a home. Be soft and nice to me. Keep me warm in the winter and cook up what I bring her for food so we eat good."

Hershel laughed to himself.

"Wives aren't always soft, Daryl," Hershel said. "And they aren't always nice to you."

"Carol will be," Daryl said, sure of his words. "I just gotta marry her. And I need you to tell me whatever it is that I need to marry her. Because I ain't gonna change my mind, Hershel. I can't. My mind don't seem to have the chance to change at all. Not when it comes to Carol."

"Maybe it isn't the best explanation I've ever heard of love before," Hershel mused, "but it's the most sincere." He sighed. "What are you going to do, Daryl, if this woman doesn't want to marry you? Sometimes—women in her profession? They don't want to marry."

"Carol's gonna marry me," Daryl repeated, feeling like he was growing tired of assuring people of something he knew already down deep in his gut.

Hershel nodded at him.

"You're going to need a home, Daryl, to take her to. Once you marry, you can't live in our attic with your brother," Hershel said. "It doesn't have to be a great home, but you'll need something. You can build a better home as you go, but you have to start somewhere. You'll need shelter." Daryl nodded his head and Hershel continued, ticking off the items that one needs when one is set on marrying somebody. Daryl took mental note of everything. "Land," Hershel said. "A promise for a future. She's certainly not going to want to marry you if you can't show her that you're at least trying to give her something she needs."

"How do I get land?" Daryl asked.

"Around here? You can just about lay claim to it," Hershel said. "You say you want this land—unsettled as it is—and then it's yours. Still...I've got some fifty acres not far from here that's mostly cleared. I've been using the lumber that comes off of it, but the ground's good. The soil's good. The farm's so big that I won't get around to working it for years." He studied Daryl and licked his lips to fight the dryness that was showing there from the fact he hadn't gone in for water in a while. "I could see a way of giving you some of that land to make your stead. Let you use some of my tools. Maybe—maybe even set you up with a team. I could give you what you needed to get started."

Daryl furrowed his brows at Hershel.

"What would you do that for?" Daryl asked.

Hershel shrugged his shoulders. He laughed to himself.

"Maybe because the Bible told me to?" Hershel offered. "After everything I've done in my life, it wouldn't hurt me to earn a few more points for heaven. Maybe because Miss Jo would have a hissy fit if I didn't help you and your brother get off on a good foot. Maybe just because...it'd be a shame to see the land go to waste when there's a young man that's out to build his home and build his name with a woman he made an honest woman. Why I do the things I do, Daryl, is nobody's business but mine."

"I don't want no charity," Daryl said. He shook his head at Hershel. "I ain't never took none before. I worked off all my debts."

"And so you would this one," Hershel agreed. "I would give you the land. The lumber to build your house. To build a barn. To put up fences. A team. Tools to ready the land for planting and seeds to plant. In return? When your harvest comes in? I'll have my choice between part of the harvest or part of the money you make off the harvest. The rest? You'll spend on what you need and you'll put it into the next year's harvest. Expanding on what you've got. The timber on the land is mine. What you cut down for me? What you sell for money? The work portion of the money goes to you. The wood and the money for selling that wood? Goes to me."

"Like we partners or something?" Daryl asked.

Hershel smiled at him.

"Exactly like we're partners, Daryl," Hershel said. "The same offer I made to my sons. The same I'd make to Merle, if he were inclined to get a start for himself. I'm making the offer to you, if you want it."

Daryl's chest tightened a little at the offer. He couldn't believe that Hershel was offering him a shot at things. If he didn't blow it—if he was able to get the little plot of land up and working—then he could build the same kind of farm that Hershel built. He could raise cattle. He could grow food. He could build a fine farm house and barns and he could hire hands to work for him and live in his attic.

He could build a real life that was a life worth living.

And Hershel was giving him that—all of that—on the confidence that he wouldn't fail. He was giving him all of that on the confidence that he'd make enough of it to pay him back. And Daryl would pay him back. In fact, he was already determined that he'd pay him back double.

Daryl nodded his head.

"I'll pay you back for it," Daryl said. "I'm good for it. I'll work that land like—like you ain't never seen. Come harvest? I'll pay you back for all of it."

Hershel hummed at him.

"I'm sure you will," Hershel said. "But the first thing you need to do is build yourself a house. Something small. Something temporary. My first wife and I spent three years in our first little cabin." He laughed to himself. "It was barely big enough to turn around in, but she made it a good home for us. My oldest son was born there. She never quit believing that I was going to turn this place into something more. At least she got to see it before she passed. At least I gave her that. I didn't give her a lot of the things that I promised her."

Daryl nodded his head.

"Yessir," Daryl said. "I'll go and I'll build something. Get started right after work today."

Hershel shook his head.

"You'll take Nessie and Runt," Hershel said, referring to some of the team horses he had. "You'll take that lumber out of the barn that I had set aside for fences. It'll rot before I get around to using it. Especially at the rate I'm going. I'd rather it be used to build a home than see it go to waste. Take whatever you need out of there. Take Merle and Joey if you can find him. Go now and get started. And then? You'll ride into town and make sure that you have a wife to bring back to the place as soon as you've got it standing and watertight."

Suddenly Daryl felt almost lightheaded over the thought that it was all coming together. He could practically see the little house that he'd build and he could practically see Carol sitting there, on the wagon next to him behind Hershel's team, ready to be his wife.

And the worms in his brain calmed a little because now they had other things to do. They had other things to think about. They knew what was coming.

Daryl grinned at Hershel, unable to hold the smile back, and nodded his head at him.

"Yessir!" He declared. "Yessir. I'ma get going on that right away. I'ma get going right now. And I'ma pay you back. Every bit of it."

Hershel smiled back at Daryl and offered him a hand to shake. Daryl took his hand and shook it enthusiastically.

"I know you will," Hershel said. "Now go on, Daryl. You don't want to waste the light. You've got a lot of work to do, and it won't do itself."


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl's determination was a driving force for himself and others. Hershel rode out with him to show him the land and Daryl roped off where he intended to build a little one room house for him and Carol to share as soon as they were wed. Once Hershel headed back in the direction of the farm, Daryl had unloaded the wagon and jumped into things full force.

The land had been meant for farming since Hershel had started clearing it. As a result, it already had a well in place, it just needed a little work. Work didn't scare Daryl. Daryl set the small cabin he intended to build not too far from the pump. By the time they broke for the evening, Daryl had posts set and was ready to start on the floor, following the same fundamentals that he'd used the year before when he'd helped Hershel with a storage shed that he didn't want suffering too much from the ground changes that came with the deep-freeze of winter. If he could keep his stamina up, and if he could keep Merle and Joey motivated to help him, Daryl figured they could have the cabin up in the matter of a week or two.

When they returned to the farm—all of them exhausted, filthy, and starving—Miss Jo had served up plates for them all and sent them to bathe. After they ate, Hershel brought Daryl out to the porch and he sat him down in one of the chairs out there to give him the ins and outs of building the cabin, making sure that Daryl knew what he was doing and that the structure would stay standing for as long as he needed it. Then he'd spoken to him, while Daryl fought the desire to catch up on the sleep that his busy mind had made him miss, about the ins and the outs of marriage. It was one last effort, perhaps, to make Daryl rethink his decision.

But Daryl wasn't going to rethink a thing.

Daryl saddled Nessie before the sun had ever gotten all the way up. Merle took to the back of Runt, a sturdy but somewhat lazy gelding, and the two of them headed back to the house of Eden. The trip from the farm to town, on horseback, didn't seem to take nearly as long as it should have. It didn't take even a fraction of the time that Daryl remembered the walk taking. Daryl, of course, could have contributed some of the short and easy ride to the fact that he couldn't remember a time in his life when he felt lighter or better about what was to come.

They'd no sooner tied the horses at the posts outside the house than the big red door of the house opened to reveal Miss Andrea standing there. She smiled at them as they came up the porch steps.

"I'd've treated you boys better if I knew you were gonna turn out to be my regulars," she said. "You've come on mounts this time. Strike it rich?"

"They's borrowed mounts," Daryl offered. "But that's just 'cause I ain't bought me none yet."

Andrea's smile spread a little more.

"So you're the wealthy one?" Andrea asked. "I could've charged you full price your first time. But—I can see you're back for more, so you'll make up the difference."

Daryl felt every square inch of his body grow warm with the hot embarrassment of standing in front of the woman. She invited them quickly inside, closed the door, and shucked off the robe to reveal that she was wearing something similar to the fancy underbritches she'd been wearing the last time, though this particular get-up was a crimson color that was different than the one she'd worn before.

Daryl waited for Merle to give instructions, but Merle was watching him and waiting. Daryl didn't know, exactly, how he was supposed to go about things. He knew that if he was asking someone's father for her hand, he was just supposed to out and ask him for the right to marry his daughter. He didn't know, though, how such things worked when it was a Miss-Madame that was in charge.

Carol, he was sure, would know what he was supposed to do.

"Well?" Andrea asked, clearly a little bored with being made to wait even a fraction of a second for business to get underway. "What do you boys want?"

Merle cleared his throat.

"Can't say for my brother," Merle responded. "But I want me what I had the last time. Suited me just fine from start to finish. Weren't nothin' needed shakin' up."

Andrea smiled at him.

"What kind of woman you want?" Andrea asked. "I've got 'em all."

Merle sucked his teeth.

"Like what I'm seein'," Merle said. "If you ain't too busy to tend to a payin' customer's needs."

"That depends," Andrea responded. "Are you paying? Or is he?"

She turned her attention to Daryl for a moment and, feeling that money might be important at the moment, Daryl dipped his hand into his pocket and came out with a decent amount of it. Judging by the quick widening of Miss Andrea's eyes, it was at least a few pennies more than what she figured they needed. Daryl swallowed, but it didn't do him any good. There wasn't any moisture left in his mouth and he somewhat choked on his own tongue. Andrea smiled at him, sincerely this time.

"It's dry out there," Andrea said. "Everywhere except the streets. Fifty pounds of mud on my floors within an hour of opening the door. Let me get you some water. Then you can tell me what you've got in mind."

Daryl might have refused the water, but it was almost on-hand. Andrea simply stepped behind a small bar area in the main room of the house and came out with a pitcher and a glass. She poured him the water and when she passed it to him, her fingers lingered a moment to caress Daryl's hand. The feeling of it sent a shiver through his body that he wasn't expecting.

The water was wet and cooler than he might have thought given the heat of the building. Daryl drank it down with a thirst that he'd only just realized was there and Andrea took the glass back from him, somewhat caressing his hand again with her long fingers. The air about her was a good deal more relaxed now, even though he'd returned his money to his pocket, than it had been when he and Merle had just stepped through the door and she wasn't assured of how much money they brought with them.

"I'm payin'," Daryl said, finding his voice again. "But he rode out with me an' I promised him what he wanted."

Andrea laughed and glanced at Merle before she looked back at Daryl.

"A pocket full of cash like that and I guess anybody'd ride with you just about anywhere," Andrea offered. "I know what he wants. What do _you_ want?"

Daryl decided the best thing to do was to simply be honest about the whole thing. He looked around the house, hoping he might catch a glance of Carol, but wherever her women were, Miss Andrea kept them hid until she was ready for them.

"I wanna talk to Carol," Daryl said.

Andrea laughed.

"Sugar, I sell a lot of things here, but talkin' ain't one of 'em," Andrea said. There was a slight bit of reprimand in her voice like she was offended that Daryl would even think of asking for such a thing. "What else do you want? Remember—you gotta order it all up front. We're not busy now, but it's gettin' on about that time."

"Carol," Daryl said. "That's what I want. I wanna talk to Carol and—I want whatever I had last time."

Andrea smiled at him.

"Last time was a special," Andrea said. "But I get the idea. Double the time? A little extra in case you're not quite _satisfied_ the first time around?"

Daryl nodded his head. His heart was pounding with an odd sensation of fear that this woman—this pretty, soft woman—might be the one thing that stood in his way of getting to Carol. She was, after all, the one that called the shots. She was the one that was, as far as Daryl could tell, in charge of Carol. She controlled _everything_.

And he'd give her everything in his pocket—every penny he'd brought with him from the farm—just to be sure that she let him tell Carol of his intention to marry him and she let him get Carol's promise that she'd come back with him as soon as he could get their little house standing. Daryl knew, too, that what he'd brought—the half of it she hadn't even seen yet—had a good chance of persuading the blonde to help him.

"All that," Daryl said. "And whatever else. Long as I get to see her."

Andrea looked somewhat amused. She raised her eyebrows at Daryl.

"You're real strung up, aren't you?" She mused. "First time out's usually a pretty big deal. Gets a taste in a man's mouth. But it's really done something to you. You're hardly the boy you come in as before."

Daryl shook his head.

"Not a boy," he said, holding onto all the resolve he'd been building up. "Weren't then. Ain't now. Carol?"

Andrea nodded her head.

"You sure you don't want someone else?" Andrea asked. "Carol's real sweet and she's real good with the skittish type, but you don't seem quite so skittish now. Sure you're not ready for something a little more challenging? Someone who knows a bit more?"

Daryl's heart thundered even harder in his chest. He really hadn't thought that there was much more to know about these kinds of things than Carol had already taught him about them. He figured that there was just what there was. There wasn't anymore. But if anyone knew more about it, and Daryl supposed they might, Miss Andrea seemed the type to know just about all of it.

And, though he wouldn't admit it, Daryl was a little bit terrified of her and the more that she might know. He wasn't here for that. He wasn't here to learn any more than Carol might want to teach him. Carol was set to be his wife and, as his wife, he could learn all that she wanted him to learn. But he wasn't here for someone else.

Daryl shook his head at Andrea.

"Gotta be Carol," he said.

Andrea smiled sincerely.

"Well, alright then," Andrea said. "The heart wants what it wants," she said. "Among other pieces of the male body. Come on, then. I'll find you a clean room. You remember the rules? No clothes on the bed."

Daryl nodded his head.

"Yes ma'am," he asserted. "I remember all of it."

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The time between when Miss Andrea left Daryl in the room and when Carol arrived felt like an eternity. Afraid to touch anything, Daryl had stood in the middle of the floor with everything on but his boots. His boots he'd taken off and emptied out of the window to keep from dirtying the floor. The rest of his clothing he kept on his body.

When Carol finally came through his door, the mass of red curls piled up on her head, Daryl's breath left his chest again.

He might have convinced himself that she didn't really exist. He might have told himself that he made her up—that she was just too good to be true. But there she was. Just the same as he remembered her. Just the same as she'd been every time he'd brought her face to his memory.

He ran to catch the door for her, just as he'd done before, but the heavy door fell shut too quickly for him and they were locked in the room again. Carol went straight to the dresser of the bedroom and she put down the heavy bowl and pitcher that she'd brought for him to take a bath. Only once she'd put it down did she seem to recognize him. He saw a blush of pink come to her cheeks and he felt warmth in his own.

What she was wearing was simpler today. There weren't as many straps and strings to get all tangled up in. There weren't as many pieces to intimidate Daryl. He still couldn't breathe, though, looking at her because she intimidated him.

Carol offered him a soft smile.

"Daryl?" Daryl nodded, his pulse picking up at the fact that Carol remembered his name. Maybe she'd been thinking of him like he'd been thinking of her. "Andrea told me you requested me," Carol said. Daryl nodded his head quickly. "Thanks for that," Carol said. "Gets us a good reputation around here when we're requested. Not too many people request me after—well, after their first time."

"She wanted me to have someone else," Daryl said. "But—there weren't nobody else for me. Weren't nobody else I want."

Carol smiled a little more sincerely and turned her face quickly away from him to hide the expression.

"I can bathe you," Carol said. "Or you can bathe yourself. It's what you want."

"Can I talk to you?" Daryl asked. "First?"

"You got double time," Carol said. "You got—you got a lot of time. As long as it takes you. As long as you want. If you don't back out on paying for it all."

Daryl shook his head at her, hoping she'd be sure to know that he was serious.

"I ain't backin' out," Daryl said. "Pay twice if I gotta. Three times. Just want to talk to you. First. If that's...if'n it's OK with you."

Carol looked like she was quite concerned about the whole thing, but she nodded her head.

"Talk," Carol said. "Can I bathe you? While you talk?"

Daryl shook his head.

"Don't think it'd be a good idea," he said. "You—uh—you remember what happened the last time?"

"That won't happen every time," Carol assured him. "It only happened because—you were very excited about what was going to happen. It was all a new experience for you. It don't happen every time."

She stepped toward Daryl and Daryl caught her arms. Holding them in his hands, he rubbed his fingers across her soft skin. She stopped any movement, staring at him, and she didn't try to push him into the bath for the moment.

"Just—lemme talk?" Daryl asked. "'Cause I ain't gonna keep my nerve forever and—it might not happen every time but I can't think like I gotta think if you're—if I ain't wearin' my pants and you touchin' me like that."

Carol laughed quietly in her throat. She nodded her head at Daryl and held him with her eyes. He didn't let go of her arms. Holding her there, even as awkward as it was, seemed to give him some kind of strength to go through with things. It reminded him that she was real—and if he was man enough to get through this, she'd be his forever. But he had to get through it first.

"I ain't stopped thinkin' of you since I left outta here," Daryl said. "I ain't hardly slept. The food I been eatin' has just been somethin' I gotta eat because I'm tryin' not to die before I could get back to you. All I been thinkin' about is gettin' back here to you and talkin' to you. Tellin' you what I gotta tell you. Askin' you what I gotta ask you."

Carol nodded at him.

"Then say your peace," Carol said. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I got money," Daryl said. "I got a lot of money. Got me a little farm now. Gonna pay the man what helped me out with interest when the crop comes in. Gonna build fences and a barn. Buy some cattle. A couple chickens for some eggs in the mornin' and hogs for butcherin'. Buildin' a lil' cabin that's gonna hold until I can build a real nice house, Carol. A house like you ain't never seen. Better'n this one 'cause it ain't gonna be of no ill-repute. Ain't gonna be of no ill nothin'."

"That sounds really nice..." Carol said, her voice coming out with a series of starts and stops. Her eyebrows drew up tight and it was clear that she didn't know what Daryl was saying. But he was getting there. He'd get there and she wouldn't be confused anymore.

"Is nice," he assured her. "And you can see all of it. Every bit. It's all for you, Carol. Everything I got and...all I'ma get? It's all for you." Carol shook her head at him, but she didn't put voice behind her confusion. "Want you to marry me, Carol. Want you to be my wife. For today an' every day what's to come. And I'ma give you whatever you need. Anything you want. If I can get it? I'ma get it for you. You just—gotta marry me."

Carol laughed to herself, a short and sharp burst of laughter, and then she shook her head at him.

"You're serious?" She asked. "Oh my God, you're _serious_."

"I ain't never been more serious about a thing in my life," Daryl assured her. "I brung money with me. I brung enough for today and for—two weeks. I didn't bring it all, but I can ride back out to the farm. I can get what'cha need me to get, Carol. You just tell me how much it costs. Tell me how much money it costs to marry you and I'ma bring the money."

Carol shook her head at him again.

"You can't marry me, Daryl," Carol said. "I'm not a wife. I'm not fit to be a wife. Not anymore. You can't marry me because I'm...I'm just a whore. This is where I live now."

Daryl shook his head back at her. Without realizing it, he'd tightened his hold on her arms and Carol winced. She reminded him of his own strength and she reminded him to loosen his grip on her.

"You don't live here," Daryl said. "Not forever. Just for now. Just for a week. Two at the most. I'll have the cabin up and you'll come and live with me. Live in our house. Make it a home."

Carol shook her head.

"I can't!" She declared. "I'm a whore, Daryl! That's all I am now. It's all I know how to be. This is the best kinda life I could hope for now."

Daryl shook his head at her.

"Ain't neither," Daryl said. "I'ma give you a way on better life'n the one you got here. Way on better. You gonna be happy and—you ain't gonna have to hold onto that happy to keep from bein' sad. Because I ain't never gonna let'cha be sad again."

Carol almost looked like she was going to cry and Daryl felt the pressure in his skull that suggested that he wanted to do the same. If it had been a proper moment for a man to cry, then he might've just given into it. He might've just let her know that he couldn't barely stand the way that she was looking at him and he couldn't stand the feeling that was crawling up his spine that told him that she wasn't as set on marrying him as he was set on marrying her.

"I can't give nothing to you," Carol said. "I've got no name worth mentioning. I got no reputation. Everyone in town, Daryl? They know I'm a whore. If you were to marry me? They'd all know you married a whore."

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"I got no kinda name," Daryl said. "Come here—come here dirty an' damn near starved on _credit_. Everything I got? I got it by bustin' my ass from the time the sun come up to the time it set down, Carol. I got it 'cause I didn't let nothin' stop me workin'. Everything I get from here on out? I'ma be gettin' it the same damn way. I don't even got a name that's good enough to buy on credit with." He shook his head at her. "And I don't give a damn what nobody's got to say about me. Not one damn for any of 'em."

"You don't know me," Carol said. "So why would you want to marry me?"

Daryl shook his head and shrugged his shoulders at the same time.

"Know all I need to know," he said. "You don't know nothin' about me, neither. But I know—I ain't never gonna sleep again. Not until I know you gonna be my wife."

Carol pulled away from him gently and Daryl untangled his fingers from her arms. As soon as she left him, he felt cold where her body had been close to him, keeping him warm. The room felt cold—even though a stale heat hung around him. Carol walked over to the wash basin and poured the water. She dipped the rag in the water and squeezed out the excess.

"Water's cold now," Carol said, almost like she could read Daryl's mind from across the room. "Sorry for that. It just don't hold the heat like you'd want it to. Never has to very long. But—the bath doesn't have to take long. And I'll make sure you're plenty warm afterwards."

"Say you gonna marry me," Daryl said.

Carol sighed.

"I can't say that, Daryl," Carol said. "I'm not sure it's up to me to say that. Even if I knew I wanted to."

"Miss Andrea?" Daryl asked.

"She saved my life, Daryl," Carol said. "She gave me—everything I have. If it weren't for her?"

"I'll pay her back for it," Daryl said. "Ever' cent. Whatever you owe her. I'll pay her back. More even. Just tell me—when I come back here for you? Tell me you gonna marry me."

With her back still to him, still worrying the rag in her hands, Carol shrugged her shoulders at Daryl.

"What if you marry me, Daryl, and you decide I'm not what you want? What if you decide—I never was fit for being a good wife and...you just don't want me no more? I don't do what you want me to do?" Carol asked.

"I don't want nothin' special from you," Daryl promised. "Want'cha to be my own wife. Just mine. Make me a home outta the home I give you. Cook us food to eat outta the food I bring you." Daryl swallowed and remembered his own dreams of what Carol would be when she was his wife. "Be soft like you is. Sweet to me. Stay with me. Keep me warm."

Carol turned around and frowned at him.

"We better get started," she said. "You asked for double time, but...I can't take all day."

"I'll pay for that too," Daryl said. "If you'll just tell me. Tell me you gonna be my wife."

Carol nodded her head gently, but she didn't give Daryl a strong affirmative answer.

"I can't tell you that right now, Daryl," Carol said. "I just can't. But—when you come back? After you think about it? _If_ you come back? I'll tell you then."

Daryl's stomach sunk. It wasn't the answer he wanted, but at least it wasn't a complete rejection. He supposed she needed time to think on it. He supposed she needed to talk to Miss Andrea. He guessed she had affairs she needed to get in order and she wasn't as ready as he was.

Daryl would give her anything she wanted—even time, if that's what she needed. And he needed time too, because he wasn't bringing her home until he had a home to bring her to.

"Fine," Daryl said. "Gonna be a week. Two, maybe, before I get that house up. But I'm comin' back here then. And I want you to be my wife."

Carol smiled at him, clearly forcing the corners of her mouth into the expression, and nodded her head.

"Let's get started," Carol said. "You tell me what you like. What you want. I'll take care of you. I can—I can give you that."

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"Everything as you like it?" Andrea asked Daryl when he came from the room. Carol walked several steps behind him and stopped when he stopped. Daryl nodded his head at the woman. He could tell by the fact that she and Merle were leaning over some playing cards she had spread out on the bar area that he'd taken longer than she'd anticipated. He'd certainly taken longer than whatever she'd been doing with Merle.

"Gotta talk to you," Daryl said.

"Me?" Andrea asked, looking surprised that Daryl might have something to say to her now that the business was done. She shot a look at Carol that could've asked her what it was all about, but Carol didn't give anything away. "You gotta pay. I can call the sheriff."

Daryl didn't know if that was true or not, but it didn't matter. It wasn't an issue. He shook his head at her.

"I'ma pay," Daryl said. "Just—wanna talk to you."

Andrea straightened up from her position leaning over the playing cards and readjusted something that must have been troubling her about her underbritches. Complicated as they were, Daryl couldn't imagine they offered much in the way of comfort. He couldn't imagine why she'd choose to wear them when he was sure that most of the types that staggered into the house of ill-repute would still put their money down—fancy underbritches or not.

"What do you need to say?" Andrea asked.

"I'ma pay you for today," Daryl said. "For me an' Merle. An' I'ma pay you what Carol owes you for up to now. Whatever it is she owes you? For bringin' her here and for—for whatever you done for her? I'ma pay you for that."

Andrea shot another look in Carol's direction. Carol's cheeks were red, but she didn't say anything to the woman.

"Why would you do that?" Andrea asked.

"Because I aim to marry her," Daryl said. "If she'll have me."

"Marry her?" Andrea asked.

Daryl nodded his head.

"Got me a farm now. Buildin' her a house. Ain't gonna be ready for a week or two, but I aim to marry her when I come back for her. If she'll have me...of course. And I wanna pay you for whatever she owes you," Daryl said.

Andrea looked at Carol again, but she was still getting nothing from Carol. She returned her stare to Daryl.

"What if she don't marry you?" Andrea asked. "What if you pay me for—room and board and food? For clothes and medical expenses? And what if she don't marry you then?"

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"Then she don't owe you nothin'," Daryl said. "And I ain't spent no better money in my life. But—I'm hopin' she's gonna marry me."

"Carol?" Andrea asked, directing the word toward Carol. Carol still didn't respond to her, though she looked like she was having a little difficulty breathing.

"That ain't all," Daryl said.

Andrea's eyes widened, but she looked intrigued.

"What else is there?" Andrea asked. "You want to pay me all this money and marry Carol. What else could there be?"

"Wanna pay you ahead," Daryl said. "Whatever work she'd have until I get back here. In a week or two weeks. Wanna pay you whatever she'd be payin' you in that time. So she can stay here, until I get back, but she ain't gotta work. She's just livin' here. Waitin' on me and thinkin' about if she's gonna be my wife."

"You want to pay me two weeks' worth of earnings and expenses?" Andrea asked. Daryl nodded his head. "Do you even know how much money that'd be?"

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"Don't matter," Daryl said. "Whatever it is? It don't matter. Money I got. Money I'll get. You give me an amount and I'll pay it. You keep whatever's leftover if I get back early. Don't owe me nothin'. Clean deal between you an' me. I don't need it. Only thing I'll be comin' back for is Carol's answer and...I hope, Carol."


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **This one comes with a little information/warning. Carol is not "innocent" in this story. At least, she's not sexually innocent. She's a working girl at a whorehouse. It's as simple as that. She's not a virgin in the slightest. We'll certainly hear more about that as we go along.**

 **At the end of this chapter, there's a little reference to lesbian relationships/sex. Nothing graphic and nothing explicit. It's mentioned. You're warned that it's there, though, if such a thing offends you.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"If you got a man that's willing to marry you? You marry him," Andrea said. "It's simple as that, Carol. It isn't hard to figure that out."

It was late and Andrea had invited Carol into her private room to sit and chat with her. Andrea's private room was the one room of the house where she didn't entertain men. At least, it was the one room in the house where she didn't entertain men for business. What she did with her body was her business, and Carol knew that there were a few men—the sheriff among them—that sometimes got invited into Andrea's private room after hours and without money changing hands. But that was Andrea's business too.

Carol shook her head at Andrea.

"He doesn't know any better," Carol said. "That's all it is. He doesn't know any better and he's confused. He thinks he actually loves me. He thinks he actually wants me to be his wife. He doesn't want that. He just wants me. He likes me because..."

"You don't know what a man wants unless he tells you," Andrea said. "Why do you think, Carol, that I started the rule of asking for it up front? Why do you think I told myself that if I ever owned my own house? That'd be a rule. You don't know what a man's got on his mind until he opens his mouth and he tells you just what he's thinking."

"And even then," Carol said, "they lie."

"All men lie, honey," Andrea said. "Just like all women. We'd be out of a job if there weren't liars in the world. Us and them both."

"He don't know what he wants, Andrea," Carol insisted.

"Seemed pretty sure to me," Andrea said. "Hell—he didn't blink. Countin' out all that money? Didn't even flinch. Just stood there shovelin' it into my hands like it was mud instead of hard-earned cash."

She got up from where she was sitting on her bed and went to the dresser where her cigarette case rested. She popped the clasp on the case and took out a cigarette. She liked them tightly rolled—tighter than she could get them herself—and she paid a Jewish man in town to roll them for her just like she liked. Sometimes she paid him in cash, but most of the time, she paid him in trade. She offered Carol one of the cigarettes, and though Carol didn't really enjoy smoking, she took so as to not seem ungrateful for what she knew was a nice gesture. Andrea lit both their cigarettes and she returned to the bed to sit again, flicking her ashes into the silver ashtray she kept there. It was a gift, she said, from a gentleman that she'd once entertained that flew all the way from London to stake a claim that pinched out a couple of months in.

"Men don't give women money like that," Andrea said, "unless they're pretty damn sure of what they want."

"I'm not doubting he knows what he wants," Carol says. "I mean—he seems pretty dead set on the fact that I'm what he wants. But—I don't think he's really thinking that I weren't ever really made to be a wife. Not a good one. Even less now."

"You weren't made to be a whore," Andrea said somewhat blankly.

Carol felt her chest catch with the harshness of the words. Maybe they'd have been music to the ears of someone else, but they felt like a dagger between her ribs. She was a whore. That's what she had now. It was all she had now. And to be told that she wasn't cut out for it? It was almost the most terrifying thing that she could hear.

Her face, too, must have given away her feelings because Andrea sighed and waved her hand at Carol.

As a sign of obedience, or maybe because she truly wanted the comfort that she knew was going to be offered, Carol got up from the chair she was sitting in and crossed the space of the room. She took a seat next to Andrea and when Andrea affectionately wrapped her arm around her, Carol sunk into her. She rubbed her face against Andrea's and Andrea tightened her hold on Carol's shoulder to offer as much comfort as she could.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Andrea said. "But it's true. Women are cut out for two things in this world. And that's wifin' or whorin'. And you aren't cut out for whorin'."

"I wasn't cut out for wifin' neither," Carol offered quietly.

Andrea hummed in her throat.

"Why? Because you drew a sorry hand for a husband?" Andrea asked. "Because—you coulda done better but you got stuck with him any damn way? He don't exist no more. Just like—like the damn Sagebrush out there that burned down. Everybody knows it was there, but it ain't there no more. So it don't matter. Just like it didn't ever exist."

Carol swallowed.

"You don't know that he doesn't exist anymore," Carol said. "You don't know that he's not out there. That I'm not still married to him."

Andrea laughed again and she sat up. She pushed Carol off of her a little and she brushed Carol's hair back from her face. The smoke from the cigarette that she still held between her fingers burned Carol's eyes slightly and Carol could pretend, for just a second, that the dampness she felt on her cheeks came from that temporary irritation.

"You listen to me, honey," Andrea said, blowing her breath in Carol's face for her proximity. "I know he ain't out there no more. And I know you ain't married to him no more. I know he—had a very bad accident. Was out on his...out on his land? And he took a fall. A bad fall. Musta landed on his head 'cause—Doc said there weren't near enough of him to know it was him. But it was him, Carol." She shook her head at Carol. "And I know he ain't comin' back. You don't come back from where he's gone."

Carol's pulse kicked up until it felt like her heart was beating in her throat and choking her.

"You never told me that," Carol said.

"'Cause I didn't think you needed to know," Andrea said.

Carol held her breath to try to make sure that it stayed under her control. She only let it out to speak.

"Did you do that?" Carol asked. "For me?"

Andrea smiled softly at her. She shook her head gently and pursed her lips while she considered her response.

"No," Andrea said. "I was right here. Minding my own business. Tending to you girls. I heard about it from the sheriff as he come through. Happened out there on his land. Was a shame, too. Weren't nobody around. He must have been out too late. Drinking probably. Maybe—didn't even see that he was about to walk right over the side of that ridge. Nobody saw it happen, though. _Nobody_."

Carol nodded her understanding. And she did understand. She understood, better than some of the girls, exactly how far Andrea would go to protect them. And Carol respected that. She respected Andrea, even if there were people out there who would say that she wasn't deserving of anyone's respect because of how she made her living—or what she did with her free time.

"How long ago?" Carol asked.

"Doesn't matter," Andrea said. "Dead is dead. Let's not talk of unpleasant things before bed. It ruins my sleep. And you know how I like my sleep."

"I'm sorry," Carol offered softly.

Andrea laughed quietly.

"Don't be sorry," Andrea said. "Just—marry that man."

"I can't marry him, Andrea," Carol insisted again.

"He got somethin' you didn't report?" Andrea asked. "Sickly?"

Carol shook her head.

"Nothing like that," Carol said. "He's fit as a horse. Or he seems like it."

"And he's not afraid of work," Andrea said. "That much is clear. If work is how he made that money? Honest work? With his hands? He'll build you the kind of life that you'd like, Carol. The kind of life that someone like you could really enjoy."

"Someone like me?" Carol asked.

"Someone that weren't cut out for whorin', sweetheart," Andrea responded. "Am I talking to myself? Need Doc to take a look at your ears next week when he's around lookin' at pussies?"

"I ain't done that bad here, Andrea," Carol said. "You said yourself, a dozen times, I'm good with the skittish ones. I'm good with the first timers."

"And you wanna spend the rest of your life fuckin' little boys that's barely become men, Carol?" Andrea asked. "You wanna spend the rest of your life with the—with the damn unsatisfactory fucks they've got to offer?"

Andrea snubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray as it reached the end of its lifespan and got close to burning her fingertips. She got up and walked back to the dresser to select another cigarette for herself. Seeing that Carol had let her own practically burn out unsmoked, Andrea didn't offer her another and Carol was grateful that she didn't. Andrea lit her cigarette and leaned against the dresser, examining a glass that she'd left there to determine if she intended to use it temporarily for her ashes.

"I don't say you weren't cut out for this to hurt your feelings, Carol," Andrea said. "I say it because I've seen a lot of whores come and go in my time and I know pretty quickly who's cut out for it and who isn't. You just aren't. And that's OK. Better'n OK. Means you were meant to be a respectable woman. You were meant to be...somebody's wife. Somebody's _mother_. If that's who you are, Carol, then that's who you have to be and he's offering you that kinda life."

"I don't have to stick just to the first timers," Carol said. "But you don't put me with anyone else. I take who you send to me Andrea."

"And I send to you the ones that are gonna go easiest on you, Carol," Andrea said. "I send you the ones that ain't gonna remind you of that asshole that broke his skull fallin' from a ridge. These bullwhackers that run up in here? The sodbusters? The scouts? How sweet and gentle you think they are? Even Daryl's brother? Merle? You think he's sweet and gentle? You gotta keep constant reins on them or they're trying shit they didn't pay for—and don't think I haven't had one or another think they could bust me in the mouth for somethin' not going just like they wanted. You've seen. You've got Doc before." She took a long draw on the cigarette and let the smoke out slowly. She watched it as it drifted around her in the air. "I give you the first timers because—because I know they aren't gonna treat you like that."

Carol nodded at her, but she didn't say anything. Andrea protected her. She'd protected her ever since Carol had met her. And one of the ways she protected her was by putting her in the position of always being in charge. A man, no matter how much of a man he was in age and stature, was always a little less of a man the first time he had his dick out in front of a woman. There was always an element of fear there. There was always an element of submission. With those men, Carol had the upper hand. They were too wrapped up in the possibility of sex—and the idea of it being something magical—to even think of offending Carol with something like a cruel word or a rough hand. Andrea would always take the roughest ones that showed up—like it was something she could smell on them—and she doled the others out to those who would suit them best in the house. Carol always got the first timers. She always got the easy ones. The fresh ones. The ones that still looked at her like she was something special and amazing and just a little bit _terrifying_.

"He doesn't know me," Carol said. "And I don't know him."

"None of us know anybody," Andrea offered. "Not really. You and me, Carol. We don't know each other. I know what you show me. And that's all you know of me."

"I know more about you than I know about him," Carol offered.

"And I know more about you today than I did when I found you begging in the street, half-starved," Andrea said. "If you want to know him, then you'll come to know him. It doesn't matter if it's here or it's there. And at least there? You're a wife, Carol, and that's a whole lot better than bein' a whore."

"What if he turns out to be like Ed?" Carol asked. "What if it's...the same thing all over again?"

Andrea shrugged her shoulders.

"Then you stage an accident," Andrea said. "A hunting accident, maybe. If shooting him's the only way you can get rid of him. Or you come back here. You can pick life back up as a whore any time you want. But it's not everybody that gets a chance at going back from this life. It's not every whore who finds a decent man that wants to wed her." Andrea shook her head at Carol. "I'm sorry," she said, "but you're a fool if you don't marry him." She smiled at Carol. She studied the glass that she'd decided would serve as a temporary ashtray. "Besides, he don't seem the type. That one? There's something gentle about him. You can tell. His brother too."

"You said he was rough," Carol said.

"Around the edges," Andrea said. "Honey, most men are. It's the lifestyle. It's the heat and the sun and the wind when it blows. The ice that burns in them in the winter. Chaps and cracks their skin—and sometimes the cracks run deeper. And you want 'em a little bit hard. Just on the outside. You want that callus built up because it protects them. That's what a callus does. The ones that are soft? Through and through? Those are the ones that barely make it to the point of not being wet behind the ears before they're tossed in a grave somewhere for gettin' in too far over their heads. One like him? That's what you want. That's one that's good for marrying. The callus is on the outside, protecting him. Protecting you. But the soft is on the inside. Even better when it's you that he's soft for." Andrea shook her head at Carol. "I don't think he's gonna turn out like Ed."

Silence fell between them.

Carol didn't know if Daryl would turn out like Ed or not. She'd never thought that Ed would turn out like he did. She'd never thought, when she told him she'd marry him, that she'd have ended up in a position where the only place she felt she could go was to a whorehouse.

She hadn't seen it coming, and that was what scared her about Daryl. He didn't seem the type, but she feared that she didn't have the instinct—or whatever it was—that was required for seeing the type until it was too late. She feared she wouldn't know the type until his fingers were wrapped around her throat.

It wasn't the strange that scared Carol. There was something charming and sweet about Daryl. There was something that drew her to him and made her want to be close to him. It wasn't the not-knowing him that worried her because there was plenty of time for getting to know him.

It was the fear that her past would repeat itself. And nothing, she knew, would relieve that fear except actually taking a chance and seeing that it didn't—or that it _did_. Her only other choice was to stay there, hidden away and protected by Andrea, as a whore for the rest of her life. A whore who took only the softest clients and the easiest challenges. A working girl that was always under the protecting eye of her Madame.

"I'm scared to go back out there," Carol admitted. "Scared to try again."

Andrea hummed at her.

"You should be more afraid of staying in here," Andrea said. "The blush wears off eventually. Whores dry up. Wives with a good husband? A good man? They never do."

"Why didn't you ever marry?" Carol asked.

She knew it was a question that Andrea had been asked before and, as far as she knew, it was a question that she'd never answered. She fixed her eyes on Carol and she drew from the cigarette she was poised to put out.

"Because when I would've married?" Andrea said. "They hadn't made a man that could hold me. They hadn't made a man that could handle me. And after I became...well...after I found a life here? There wasn't any man brave enough to try." Andrea snubbed out her cigarette and waved her hand toward the bed. "Crawl on in, honey. You don't have to go out there tonight."

Carol crawled into the bed and arranged herself among the mass of pillows and blankets. Blowing out the lamp and taking off her robe, Andrea joined her. As soon as Andrea was settled in the darkness, Carol rubbed her hand down Andrea's side and moved closer to her in the bed, curling her body around her. She rubbed her fingertips over the soft skin of the woman's stomach and Andrea caught her hand, holding her fingers captive between her own.

"You're off duty for two weeks, sweetheart," Andrea said. "I took the insurance money myself today. And that means off duty from professional and personal pleasure."

Carol swallowed. She was one of only three of them that even knew of Andrea's occasional preference to have the nighttime accompaniment of one of her girls to her bed. Although Andrea entertained a few lady visitors to the house that entered from the back doors, she had little worry that any of them would share her secret because, in doing so, they'd have to share their own.

And Carol kept Andrea's secret because she loved her—no matter the way in which that love sometimes expressed itself.

"You want me to go and get Lila?" Carol asked softly.

Andrea laughed quietly.

"No," she said, the word coming out with a hum as she patted Carol's hand. "I just—want to sleep. And I think that's just what you need too."


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl stood nervously by as Hershel circled around the structure that he'd built. He examined every board and every nail like the house was built for him and Miss Jo. He ran his hands over the windowsills to check for splinters and he tested the pump that Daryl had gotten into good working condition. He opened the door and he stomped on the floors. He stood in the small space and examined the sparse furniture that Daryl had for it.

Under Hershel's guidance, Daryl had gone to town and he'd bought a good mattress. A fine one. The best kind they said come from some other place so it was better than any he could've made himself. Miss Jo gave him linens—nice ones—to dress the bed proper for a wedding night. Proper for offering a new wife. He built the bed frame himself and he sanded it down smooth at every angle. He built a small table for them. Two chairs. Hershel built them a dresser and a nightstand to match. Joey contributed a cabinet for holding the plates and cups and utensils that Miss Jo gave them—mismatched but enough for six to use at once, which was more people than Daryl figured would even fit in their house—and their coffee pot and a few other possessions that Daryl had acquired along the way stood in for the rest of the decoration.

It wasn't the house that he would one day build her, but it was a fine enough structure for now. Daryl knew it was, because he knew every board that had been placed. He knew every post that had been set. He knew all the nails that had been driven. He'd either driven them himself or he'd overseen the work that Merle and Joey had put in—each of them happily working for cheap whiskey, change on the tables at the local saloon, and pussy money for putting in their pockets.

The only thing that Daryl could think of that was missing from his home was the woman that would, really, make it all something worth having.

"You got oil?" Hershel asked. "So your lamps don't run down?"

"Bought extra," Daryl said. "In the corner over there."

Hershel examined the wood beside the small fireplace that Daryl had built for the cabin.

"This all the wood you got, son?" Hershel asked. "This and what's under that lean-to outside?"

Daryl nodded his head.

"I'll have the barn up in a couple weeks," Daryl said. "Maybe sooner. Figured I could build a woodshed too. While I was goin'. Stock it up for the winter."

"Not too far from the house," Hershel said. "You don't want her having to walk a mile in the snow just to keep from freezing to death."

Daryl laughed to himself and nodded his head. Over the couple of weeks that he'd been putting together his life—building it board by board and nail by nail—he'd become accustomed to Hershel's words of advice. He'd gotten used to hearing them flow in as Hershel directed him on how to build a house that a woman would want to make a home.

"I'ma build a smokehouse too," Daryl said. "Somethin' small. Extra meat so she don't worry about the winter."

"Any worry off of her is a worry off you," Hershel said with a nod. They were words that Daryl had heard several times over and he nodded his head with the rhythm of them. "You tried out this fireplace? Made sure your chimney's set properly? Don't smoke?"

"Don't smoke no way but up an' out," Daryl said. "Just as it oughta."

"Set the hook in the ground outside?" Hershel asked. "For the pot that Joey brought over from Jo on Wednesday?"

Daryl nodded his head.

"Just like you said," Daryl said. "Twelve feet out. Pit dug. So the fire don't run to the house if'n it gets away from her."

Hershel beamed at him. It was the proudest smile that Daryl had ever seen directed at him in his whole life.

"Looks like you got everything, son," Hershel said.

"Yessir," Daryl confirmed. "Everything except Carol."

Hershel laughed to himself.

"You're still sure she's coming?" Hershel asked. "After all this time?"

"Gotta," Daryl said.

Hershel hummed and looked around the cabin again.

"Well if she don't," Hershel said, "I'd say you're set to find yourself a wife at any rate. Get a barn up. You already got those seeds in the ground. There's many a young lady would be happy to sweep your floors and make your biscuits."

Daryl shook his head.

"But there ain't but one that'll do," Daryl said. "Built this house for her. Planted them seeds for her. Ain't took one step or drove one nail that I didn't think of her seein' it. Bought that bed there in town—most expensive thing I ever bought before but...I couldn't help but think how happy she'd be sleepin' all nested up in it with them pillows. How warm it was gonna be when the winter come."

"There's nothing warm when the winter comes," Hershel said. "Still, I'd say you won't exactly be winterin' hard here, Daryl. You'll do alright with not freezing to death."

Daryl cleared his throat.

"I'ma need some more of my money," Daryl said, holding his hand out to Hershel. He'd handed over the money that he had to old man for safe keeping and for securing it against Merle. Merle wasn't a thief—or at least he didn't aim to be—but knowing his brother had a lot more squirreled away than he'd ever thought was strong temptation for a man of many vices like Merle. "When I get her back here? I'ma want it all. Got me a place set to hide it where won't nobody find it that don't know it's there."

"That money'd be better off in a bank, Daryl," Hershel said. "Set up an account in town. Better, too, when your harvest comes in. A lot of money like that needs protecting. Needs security."

"How I know they don't steal it?" Daryl asked. "Hand it over to 'em and they just gettin' rich off what I worked for."

Hershel laughed.

"I thought the same thing too," Hershel said. "But every time I've gone to get my money, they had it right where I put it. Even a couple of years ago when someone came through and robbed the bank—the money was still there when I needed it. It still spends the same."

Daryl hummed at him. He wasn't entirely convinced that he wanted to take everything he had and hand it over to some stranger that probably hadn't ever spent a day at good, hard work. He didn't mind handing it over to Hershel because the old man was the man that gave him the money in the first place. He was the kind of man that read to them from his big, black book and told them how to be good people. He was the kind of man that made them bow their heads and listen to the blessings he heaped on nearly every meal they ate.

Hershel wasn't the kind of man that stole another man's money when he was just trying to make an honest living. But Daryl didn't know about the men in the banks, and he didn't know if they were half as honest as Hershel.

"For now I'd rather I just kept my money where I know where it is," Daryl said. "If it's all the same to you."

"Suit yourself, son," Hershel said. He reached into his pocket and came up with the bag that Daryl knew held the money that he would pass to him to go and settle his affairs with Miss Andrea. The money would pay whatever else he owed for Carol's stay there and it would pay any other fee the Miss-Madame saw fit to charge him for leaving with Carol fair and square. When it touched his hands, Daryl's heart responded by kicking up a beat like it knew what the money was for—like it knew what the money would secure. It felt better in his hands than money ever had. And it was money well spent, if it bought him Carol as a wife, because he already knew that she'd feel better in his hands than cash ever did. "Maybe we'll revisit it again," Hershel said. "In the spring. The bank business. Talk more, then, about opening up an account. Maybe I'll go with you when we go to sell."

"Maybe," Daryl said. "But that ain't now. You think this is enough?"

Hershel laughed to himself again.

"Daryl—if that's not enough? Then this is a woman that you can't afford," Hershel said. "Nobody can. There are many men that would let you marry their daughters just to know that you'd managed to save that much money by now. And especially if you told them that it wasn't half of what you've got hidden in a cookie jar in Miss Jo's pantry."

"It's gotta go right, Hershel," Daryl said. "Ever' bit. 'Cause I don't get but one chance to bring her back here. If she don't marry me? This was for nothin'."

Hershel shook his head. He reached out a hand and roughly patted Daryl's shoulder before he squeezed it.

"It isn't for nothing, Daryl," Hershel said. "One way or another, you've started yourself a life here. A good life. There's an honest living to be made here. And if it's Carol that's your wife, then you're all set. But if it isn't? There'll be a woman out there that'll want to marry a man like you and live an honest life with you."

Daryl felt his throat tighten at even the slightest thought that he might ride out there—out to Eden—just to be rejected. Worse than being cast out, he imagined, was being turned away entirely. Hershel squeezed his shoulder again and sighed.

"I don't know what the good Lord has planned for you Daryl," Hershel said. "I don't know what He's got planned for that young woman. Those are things that aren't ours to know. But I think He knows. I think He sees—that the love that you have? It's a good love, Daryl. It's the kind of love that brought you to build this house. That brought you to build it with—care. To build it with love. Hope for a future. Hope for your future and hers." Hershel shook his head at him. "The preacher in town might not marry you," Hershel said. "He's got some strong feelings on ladies that choose the path that she's been going down. But—I've got the power to marry you just as well as he does. So if she'll be your wife? You bring your bride back to the farm and I'll wait up for you. If she says yes? I'll marry you tonight. You won't have to wait."

Daryl swallowed and nodded his head.

"Real married?" Daryl asked. "You can do that?"

Hershel laughed to himself and nodded his head sincerely.

"Really married," he confirmed. "As married as you can get. I can do that. I _will_ do that."

"Why wouldn't he marry us, Hershel?" Daryl asked. "If we was both wanting to get married? What would be the sense in tellin' us that we couldn't?"

Hershel shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

"Everybody judges someone for something, Daryl," Hershel said. "It's human nature. And some people—they judge others for a lot of things. I'm not free of it myself. And neither is he."

Daryl nodded his head.

"It don't matter no way, right?" Daryl asked. "I mean once we're married? We're as married as we can get, right? He can't say nothin' about it, not even if he don't like it."

"Not even if he doesn't like it," Hershel confirmed.

"Are you a preacher?" Daryl asked.

Hershel seemed to think that was funny too.

"There's something of a preacher in all of us," Hershel said. "Just that everybody's sermon is a little bit different."

Daryl gnawed at his lip.

"Not much of an answer," Daryl said.

"It's as good an answer as I can give you," Hershel said.

"I don't got no sermon," Daryl said. "Not in me. I ain't no preacher."

"Maybe you do," Hershel said. "Maybe you just haven't found it yet. Maybe—your sermon would be on...telling someone how to be so determined to build yourself a home with a woman you loved that you built the home before you had the woman."

Daryl laughed that time.

"That ain't no kinda sermon," Daryl said. "Not like the ones you read us outta your book."

Hershel shrugged his shoulders.

"That sermon is faith," Hershel said. "Strong faith. Love. They're all in there. I'll read them to you sometime. You'll see. It's all there."

Daryl nodded his head at Hershel and sucked in a breath. He looked at his money once more and then he put it in his pocket and dug in his shirt pocket for the cigarettes that he was keeping there. Cigarettes he'd rolled for himself earlier. He offered one to Hershel and Hershel accepted it with a smile.

"Maybe we don't say nothing about me enjoying a smoke to Miss Jo," Hershel said. "Of course, if you get a wife, then you'll understand that sort of thing."

Daryl smiled to himself, his cheeks burning warm at the thought.

"Carol ain't gonna rag me about smokin'," Daryl said. "She ain't hardly gonna rag me about nothin' 'cause I ain't gonna give her nothin' to rag on me about. But smokin'? She don't mind it. Told me so herself."

"Then you're all set," Hershel said. He cleared his throat and accepted Daryl's match as he stepped outside the door, leading Daryl out of the cabin. "And I hope you're right. I hope that your union is as peaceful and _blissful_ as you want it to be." He looked around like he hadn't seen the land before—the land that he'd come over to see at least once every two days. He drew on the cigarette that Daryl had given him and blew the smoke out in a heavy cloud. "You'll take Nessie and walk Runt with you. He'll be fine for Carol to ride. He's never bucked since he was broken. I'd trust him with a baby."

Daryl swallowed and nodded his head.

"If I take 'em both," Daryl said, taking note that the two mounts were what they'd used to come from Hershel's farm, "how you gonna get home?"

"It's a fine day, Daryl," Hershel said. "And I could use the air. I'll be fine to walk. Good for the circulation."

"Could ride with you back to the farm," Daryl offered. "Go from there."

Hershel shook his head.

"It's a nice day for a walk," Hershel said. "And you've got things to do, son. You don't want to be riding back when it gets too dark. You've got a home, Daryl. You've got a future growing out there in the dirt. You've got someone that you can't wait to build that life with. Now you've gotta go and get her. And I've got to stretch my legs and walk back home."

Daryl finished his cigarette and snubbed it out in the dirt. Hershel did the same with his and started walking toward the spot where the horses were tied. It was clear that he intended to help Daryl get settled once he was saddled.

Daryl patted his pockets before he put his left foot into the stirrup.

"I reckon I got all I need," Daryl said. "Money. That'll get me there and back." He pulled himself up onto Nessie and situated the reins that Hershel passed him. Then Hershel passed him the reins to Runt and, even though he would've probably followed along without need for being led, Daryl wrapped the reins around Nellie's saddle horn.

"You've got _almost_ everything you need," Hershel said.

Daryl felt a cold blast of panic pass over him. He couldn't remember what he was missing and he hoped that he hadn't forgotten it altogether. Hershel smiled at him and reached into his shirt pocket before he came out with something that glittered in the light.

"I don't know a woman the first that wants to get married if she doesn't have a ring, Daryl," Hershel said. He passed Daryl the silver band on a chain that glittered in the light and Daryl looked at it resting in his palm. "I had time to make that up real quick for her. I don't know how big her fingers are, but I can resize that one or make another one entirely if it doesn't fit. The chain'll hold it for now. It'll fit her."

Daryl swallowed and shook his head.

"It's too much for me to take," Daryl said, trying to offer the ring back to Hershel. Hershel shook his head at him.

"Nonsense," Hershel said. "The chain was Jo's. She wanted her to have it. The ring I made myself. The band isn't gold, Daryl, like wedding rings are traditionally supposed to be. You'll have to buy her one of those when you get a chance. I'm sorry, but the best I had to offer was steel." Daryl looked at the ring again and turned it over in his palm.

"Steel's better'n gold," Daryl said. "Stronger metal. There ain't nothin' about bein' married that says that stronger ain't better."

Hershel laughed to himself.

"Stronger is better," Hershel said. "But one day, if she wants the gold, then you can buy her that. The steel will do for now."

Daryl nodded his head, but then he shook his head again.

"I just don't feel like I can take it," Daryl said.

"I don't see how you can't," Hershel responded. "I won't take no for an answer, Daryl, and your bride is waiting. Don't make her spend another night in that house when she's got a fine home here."

Daryl accepted that the ring was his—and soon it would be Carol's. He nodded his head at Hershel again and offered his thanks for the gesture. He offered his thanks for everything.

"Fine day for a walk," Hershel mused again. "And with a little luck? You beat me back to the house."

Daryl laughed to himself knowing that it would be impossible but appreciating, just for a moment, the slight show of optimism from the old man. He dropped the ring into his shirt pocket and nodded his head at Hershel before he nudged Nessie along and started the trek toward town where Carol would be waiting to give him an answer that he'd been waiting to hear.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl was surprised, on the road, to find Merle riding in his direction on Duke, a plow horse of Hershel's that was entirely unaware that he was a draft and, as such, wasn't built for being a riding horse. Slow and easy was Duke's typical approach to being ridden, but he typically behaved better when given commands from his back than he did when he suffered the indignity of being yanked around by a lead. A trip to town, though, seemed to suit both Merle and Duke just fine.

"You couldn't find no better horse in Hershel's barn?" Daryl called to his brother. He could see Merle laughing from the short distance away and he continued laughing even as he closed the space between them.

"Like Duke," Merle responded. "Suits my style. Got us an understandin'. I don't like to run and get my damn ass jostled up into my neck and neither do he."

"What'cha doin' out here Merle?" Daryl asked.

"Headin' out to Eden," Merle said. "Didn't think I was gonna let'cha ride out alone, did'ja?"

"How'd you even know I was leavin' now?" Daryl asked.

Merle laughed.

"Been waitin' since Hershel left to come see your stead," Merle admitted. "Me an' Duke. He don't care. Thought we was waitin' all that time for a load of something I reckon." His face changed to a slightly more sincere expression than the half-grin that he'd been wearing since his laughter had died down. "You hell bent on goin' after you a wife. I weren't gonna let my lil' brother go get him a wife without me. Hell—she might be a whore, but soon as you marry her? That whore's a Dixon, and that makes her about all the family we got left." He laughed to himself. "Besides...you don't know nothin' about women. She's liable to pack a bag that's too heavy for them regular mounts. But ole Duke here?" Merle leaned forward and patted the neck of the oversized beast that seemed entirely oblivious to everything around him. "He can pull a healthy stump out the ground. He can prob'ly handle her load."

More pleased than he really felt it proper to admit at the moment, Daryl nodded his head at his brother as a way of giving thanks and nudged Nessie forward so that their caravan could pick up their steps again wander on in the direction of town. Runt kept close to his side, and every now and again Daryl glanced over his shoulder to make sure that Merle, riding a horse that could've overtaken Nessie and Runt's short steps with one full length stride, was managing to keep up.

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Andrea held the curtains back with her fingers and watched the approach of Daryl and Merle. Riding a chestnut mare and leading a buckskin, Daryl was coming calling—and the rider-less but saddled horse made his intentions fairly clear. He intended not to be leaving alone. Behind him, moving at the slowest pace he could without standing still, came Merle on a bay Clydesdale that looked somewhat strange stumbling his way through the muck of the streets that were muddied with the water that some of Andrea's girls had recently tossed out the windows.

Andrea smiled to herself.

"Carol?" She called. "Carol? Need you to come down here. We got visitors and I know one's here for you."

Andrea grabbed her robe from the hook that she kept it on to make sure that she was always fit to open the door, and she wrapped herself in it. She opened the door while the two men were still securing their mounts to the hitching posts set out in front of the house.

Andrea leaned against the doorframe and waited for them to make their way up the steps, both of them nodding their heads as a greeting to her as they came. The oldest of the brothers was grinning like a jackass. The youngest looked like he was doing everything within his power not to part company with whatever breakfast he may have scared up.

"I'm sorry," Carol called, coming up from behind Andrea—from the sitting room in the back of the house where the girls rested between clients. "I didn't hear you."

She was focused on readjusting her clothing and Andrea glanced at her and shook her head.

"You won't be wearing that," Andrea declared. "Go—put on a dress. Pack your bag. I wanna have a little talk with the boys."

Carol stared at Andrea open-mouthed and Andrea waved her hand at Carol to get her moving. She wanted to make it clear that changing her clothes and packing her bag, at least, were not up for discussion or negotiation. Maybe she would want to continue arguing about whether or not she would go with Daryl, or whether or not she would marry him, but Andrea was at least pushing her in the direction of the first step.

And Andrea wanted to talk to Merle and Daryl.

This was an opportunity that Andrea didn't want Carol to miss out on. The idea of marriage to a man that she hardly knew could be terrifying, but even more terrifying could be the reality of a future in such a business as this. The time ran out for everyone. The sand ran through the hourglass. A dried-up whore who had lost the blush of youth and beauty didn't have good prospects. Not unless she was a Madame. Not unless she had saved enough of her money to get her through whatever old age she might dream to have. Not unless she'd earned enough respect and admiration from her girls that they were prepared to care for her through that old age.

Every whore had a day when the time simply ran out—and only the best of them had one that extended much beyond the years that Carol and Andrea both were already facing.

Carol wasn't an exceptional whore. And, as Andrea had told her time and time again, such a statement wasn't meant to cause her sadness or heartache. It was simply fact. Carol had been raised to be a wife. She'd expected to live as a wife and that was the life that she was prepared for. Being a whore didn't suit her in the slightest.

And one day Andrea wouldn't be able to care for her any longer.

From the outside looking in, there was nothing that was immediately objectionable about Merle and Daryl. They were relatively clean, all things considered. They were healthy and strong and not afraid of the hard labor that their lives required of them. They seemed level-headed enough and, though it was clear that Merle was prouder than perhaps he had a right to be, neither of them seemed so consumed by pride that it made them fragile and prone to coming to pieces at the slightest threat that something might knock them down a notch.

From the outside looking in, it was clear that they'd been knocked down about as low as a body could go. Now they were on their way up.

Marrying Daryl would raise Carol's current standing in society. It might not raise her high up—and maybe Daryl would never have that to offer her—but it would raise her to the point that she didn't have to feel the need to duck her head in public. Marrying Daryl would make her respectable. It would make her a proper wife again.

But Andrea wasn't going to simply send her off with the two men without having a sit-down talk with them to put her mind at ease.

Once Andrea pointed her finger at Carol, directing her back toward the bedrooms, Carol turned and took her objection with her. Painting on a smile, Andrea turned back to address the two men that were mounting the steps to her house.

"This a business call?" Andrea asked. "Or _personal_?"

"Reckon you know why I'm here," Daryl offered. He cleared his throat and glanced around, still held somewhat outside the house because Andrea hadn't cleared the door to allow them inside. "Carol...she—uh—she here?"

Andrea nodded her head at him.

"She's changing her clothes," Andrea said. "Packing a bag. But—I'd like you two gentleman to come with me? Let me show you the sitting room. We can wait more comfortably there."

"We weren't plannin' on bein' here that long," Merle said. "Not with ridin' back to the farm tonight."

"Hershel's waitin' to do the marryin'," Daryl said. "And supper—they don't hold it too late. Might not want to put it off too long and I'm sure Miss Jo's gonna want us all to eat." He cleared his throat. "Celebration and what have you."

Andrea smiled at him as reassuringly as she could. It was clear that the young man was so nervous he might as well have had bees swarming around in his britches.

"I just want to talk to you for a minute," Andrea said. "Everybody's got a minute to spare. Follow me?"

Andrea let the two men into the house. Rather than remove it, she kept her robe on. For a moment she wanted their full attention and she was more than aware of how easy it was to lose a man's focus when certain garments were present and others weren't. Andrea guided the men to the sitting room that she knew would be empty. There were two grand sitting rooms in the house. One, in the back, was for the use of the girls in between clients. The other was for the use of the clients if all the girls were occupied.

At the moment, they had no one waiting and most of her girls were occupied.

Andrea waved her hand at the furniture in the room and both Merle and Daryl stared at the couches but didn't sit.

"Sit down, gentlemen," Andrea offered. "The furniture in here was made for that."

"It's just..." Daryl offered, looking back at the couch, "we're pretty dusty from the road."

Andrea offered him a smile and an understanding nod.

"These couches have seen more than their share of dirt," Andrea said. "A little more? It isn't going to ruin them. Sit. Get comfortable."

With the final push, the men did sit and Andrea took a seat where she could see them both. She bit the inside of her lip so as to not laugh at the obvious discomfort that they felt sitting on her couch, both of them repeatedly dragging their hands across their pants legs to dry their palms from nerves.

"Tell me about yourselves," Andrea said. "Daryl? Tell me about yourself."

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"Ain't much to tell," Daryl said. "Reckon I'm a farmer now. Got me a lil' piece of land. A house now. Won't be long I'll have a barn." He shrugged his shoulders again to end his wordy speech with a gesture that would say, for him, that there wasn't much else that he could tell.

"Been married before?" Andrea asked.

"Don't aim to get married more'n once," Daryl said.

"A lot of people don't aim to do it," Andrea said. "But that doesn't mean it never happens."

"No ma'am," Daryl offered.

"What about your family?" Andrea asked.

She could immediately see, from the red that flooded both their faces, that the question touched on something that was, perhaps, a little delicate.

"The hell about your family?" Merle growled at her, attempting to return offense with offense.

Rather than feel offended, though, Andrea simply nodded her head.

"My mistake, I suppose," she said.

"You lookin' at all the family we got left," Daryl said. "Nothin' else to say but that."

"Come out here not to have to say nothin' else," Merle added.

Andrea sat forward and sighed.

"What are your intentions, Daryl? With Carol?" Andrea asked.

Daryl glanced at his brother like he might answer the question for him, but it was clear that Merle was leaving most of the talking to Daryl—unless of course he felt that he needed to step in to protect his brother. Andrea could respect that. She could respect the need to protect. It was a need that she'd always had too. There was nothing wrong with it and, honestly, she was happy to see that it belonged to at least one of the brothers. She figured, too, that it would belong to them both if the time and situation was right.

"I don't got no intentions," Daryl said. "I mean—marry her. But—that's...that's it, I suppose. Ought I have more? Intentions?"

Andrea laughed to herself.

"You want to marry her," Andrea said. Daryl nodded his head with some enthusiasm. "And then what?" Andrea asked, raising her eyebrows at him.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders again in response and cleared his throat before subjecting his palms to another sweep across his dirty pants.

"Then she's gonna be my wife," he said.

"And what do you think, Daryl, makes a good wife?" Andrea asked.

Out of the corner of her eye, Andrea caught some movement. She rolled her eyes in the direction of the movement, but she did her best to keep from turning her head. She didn't want to let the mover become aware that she knew of her presence, and she didn't want to alert Daryl and Merle to her approach. Not yet.

"Good wife—stays with me," Daryl said. "Don't go nowhere unless..."

"Unless?" Andrea pressed.

"Unless I know about it," Daryl said. "Makes a home outta the house I give her. Meals outta the food. Good wife...hell, I don't know. Just does the wife things that wives do."

Andrea accepted that, perhaps, it was difficult for him to put into words exactly what he expected of a wife. Perhaps it was simply that the young man had no grand expectation for his wife. She nodded her head at him.

"And what would you do," Andrea asked, "if she weren't a good wife? If she didn't do things...quite like you liked them?"

Daryl looked almost shocked at the very suggestion that Carol might do something like fail to live up to his very limited expectations. He backed up a little on the couch and shrugged his shoulders again.

"Reckon...I'd ask her why she weren't doin' 'em?" He said, the words coming out as a question.

"Is that what you would do?" Andrea asked. "You'd ask her why she wasn't doing them the way you wanted? You'd ask her...to do them the way that you wanted?"

Daryl glanced at Merle again, but finding no help there he nodded his head again.

"Yeah," he said, a little surer of himself. "Yeah. Think that's—think it's what I'd do."

"Would you put her out?" Andrea asked. "Leave her to—fend for herself? Leave her to—find a life for herself because she wasn't suiting to what you had in mind?"

Daryl shook his head.

"No," he said, but he didn't bother to elaborate on his answer. It was simple and to the point. He wouldn't put her out. It hadn't even entered his mind as a possibility.

Andrea nodded her acceptance of the answer.

"Would you hit her?" Andrea asked. "Teach her that way what you wanted her to know?"

"Listen just a damn minute!" Merle spat, getting to his feet like a shot. Andrea sat back in her chair, unsure at the moment if Merle might hit her for such a question, but she gave him her attention. "Daryl ain't come here to answer none a' your questions. He come here 'cause he's got himself a mind to marry that lil' woman if she'll have him. An' she'd be damn lucky to have him 'cause—'cause there ain't nothin' he wouldn't give her. Nothin' he wouldn't do for her. Not now that he's set on marryin' her. We don't come from shit. Got our asses here straight from Georgia by payin' off our debts with our backs an' our sweat. We ain't worth no more'n you is—but he don't gotta sit here an' answer questions like this." Merle's temper seemed to run out. He'd offered no injury to anything and the red was starting to fade from his features as he settled down from the insult. Daryl was watching him. Andrea watched him too. "He ain't no—he ain't no prize," Merle said. "And maybe—lotta that's my fault. I been raisin' him since—since he was missin' half his damned teeth. Didn't teach him everythin' he prob'ly oughta learn but I taught him one damn thing. And that's that he don't beat on women."

Andrea offered Merle a soft smile and the smile, it seemed, reduced the redness even more. He glanced back at the couch and mumbled something that might have been an apology as he returned to the seat he'd been sitting in before.

"I meant no insult," Andrea said. "It's just—I care for Carol. She's one of my girls. And I don't want to just send her off with just anyone. You understand."

Daryl nodded his head at her.

"You satisfied?" He asked.

Andrea returned the nod.

"I think I am," she said. Andrea shifted and changed her position. She glanced in the direction of the doorway where she knew that Carol was standing somewhat hidden behind the heavy curtains that she closed sometimes to give her clients privacy. "Carol? Are you satisfied?"

Daryl moved and got to his feet at the mention of Carol's name. His head shot in the direction of where Andrea was looking. Andrea watched his face as Carol rounded the corner dressed in one of the simple cotton dresses that Andrea had given her. It was soft and had a rose floral pattern. Andrea never wore it and Carol had admired it, so Andrea had given it to her, though she'd never seen her wear it until then. A soft smile curled across Daryl's lips and his eyes went wide with the admiration of something as simple as Carol standing there in a light cotton dress.

Carol shook her head at Andrea. She was afraid.

Even things that were good were sometimes terrifying.

Andrea stood up as well and readjusted her robe. Merle didn't get on his feet until Andrea rose.

"Carol—Daryl's here, and I think he wants your answer. I saw that he brought a buckskin with a saddle. I think that mount's for you to ride," Andrea offered.

Carol shook her head again.

"I can't go," she said. "I'm not—you don't wanna marry me." She directed the last of her words to Daryl.

Daryl licked his lips and nodded his head.

"But I do," he said. "I do. You can see it all now. The house. I got it up. It's real nice. Ready for ya. It ain't gonna be the big one I'ma build you later but...but it oughta do for now. Got my first harvest in the ground. Planted. It's growin' down in the dirt." He raised a hand at her and dropped his fingers down in his shirt pocket. He came up with something and he walked forward—toward Carol—offering it out gingerly like he might be trying to feed a piece of meat to a dog that he wasn't entirely sure wasn't set on biting his fingers. "Got this too."

Carol outstretched her hand and Andrea saw, when Daryl pulled his hand away, that he'd put a ring there. A simple band on a chain. Carol stared at it and she shook her head at the ring.

"I don't know if I can be what you want me to be," Carol offered.

Andrea laughed to herself.

"It seems to me that Daryl's got some pretty simple expectations," Andrea said. "I think—you could manage it just fine."

"This is my home," Carol said, directing her words toward Andrea.

Andrea's stomach tightened. The security that Carol felt there was holding her back. It would hold her back from everything. Andrea shook her head.

"It hasn't always been," Andrea said. "And it isn't anymore. Carol—you don't belong here. You never did. And you don't have to marry Daryl, but this isn't your home. It isn't where you belong."

Andrea's chest ached at the expression that crossed Carol's features. She wanted nothing more than to take back her own words, but she knew that the words were necessary. She had to be cruel, at this moment, to make sure Carol got the best thing she could out of this life.

Carol looked at her with an open mouth.

"You don't belong here," Andrea said. "You belong—with this young man who loves you enough, without even knowing you any more than he does, to give you a life. To make you his wife. You'll figure out the rest. He will. But, sweetheart? You gotta give him a _chance_."

Carol looked from Andrea to Daryl and closed her mouth.

"You really wanna marry me?" She asked.

Daryl nodded his head.

"More'n I wanted anything before," he said.

Carol nodded her head and glanced at the small bag by her side—a bag that Andrea had given her the day that Daryl had first come speaking about his intentions to marry Carol—and then she spoke.

"OK," she said. "OK. I'll—I'll marry you."

Andrea smiled to herself at the look of absolute shock that crossed Daryl's features before it melted into a pure joy.

"You gonna marry me?" Daryl asked.

Andrea silently prayed that Carol didn't tell him—because it might just break his heart—that she felt she had little choice in the matter. Her prayer must have been answered because Carol didn't respond in such a way. She simply nodded her head again.

"I'm gonna marry you," Carol said. She offered Daryl the chain that he'd put in her palm and he took it, his hands visibly shaking. Carol turned around and pulled any stray hair that she could find from around the back of her neck. Baring her neck to him, Daryl seemed to understand what she wanted and he carefully unclasped the chain and hung it around Carol's neck. Once it landed in place, Carol picked it up and looked at it before she dropped it against her skin again.

"Just put the bag on Duke," Merle offered. "He don't mind no extra load."

Daryl nodded his head at his brother and took up Carol's bag. He was still looking at her like he didn't believe her. He was looking at her like she might tell him to put her bag down—that she'd already changed her mind—or like she might just simply vanish and cease to exist. Daryl gently put a hand on Carol's back and pushed her toward the door, but Carol broke away from his touch to quickly run and wrap her arms around Andrea.

Andrea accepted the embrace and squeezed Carol back just as hard as Carol squeezed her. She brushed her lips gently across Carol's ear before she spoke in a whisper that she was sure that only Carol would hear.

"You can always come back here," Andrea said. "But—you won't want to. Go on—don't keep your husband waitin' on you."

Carol didn't say anything. She didn't have to. Her eyes said it all when she pulled away from Andrea and stared at her. Andrea tucked a stray curl behind Carol's ear, offered her the most reassuring smile that she could, and pushed her in the direction of Daryl. He picked up where Andrea left off and, gently placing a hand on her back again, he took Carol toward the door.

Andrea hung back a moment and watched as the two of them left the house, leaving the door open for Merle to follow behind.

Remembering Merle, Andrea turned in the direction of the older brother. He was standing there, still working his jaw like he had something to say to her that he wasn't entirely dedicated to spitting out or keeping to himself.

"You got something else?" Andrea asked.

Merle regarded her, his stare hard and his expression not giving away any of his thoughts. Finally he shook his head and shuffled forward to leave the room. He stopped just as he stepped over the sitting room threshold and turned back to look at Andrea.

"What you done," Merle said. "Tellin' her she weren't welcome to stay here. You mean that?"

Andrea shrugged her shoulders gently at the man.

"At the time I did," Andrea said.

Merle nodded his head.

"Why'd you do that? If you don't mean it now?" Merle asked.

"Daryl's going to be good for her," Andrea said. "And—marriage is better than bein' a whore. If she can have that? She should. This house shouldn't stand in her way."

Merle furrowed his brow at her.

"You seem to like whorin' alright," Merle asserted.

Andrea somewhat nodded her head. She couldn't fully agree with the statement, but she couldn't deny it entirely either.

"It's a job," Andrea said. "And—at the end of the day? It's better to like it than to hate it. When it's your life. The only life you've ever had. The only one you've—ever known."

Merle hummed at her and nodded his head.

"Reckon that's so of anything," he offered.

Andrea nodded her agreement and sucked in a breath. She stepped forward, walking in his direction, to make it clear that she would escort him out so that he could ride back with his brother and Carol to attend their wedding—however simple it might be.

"The best part of my job," Andrea said, "is when one of my girls makes it out. You best head on back. You don't want to lose the sun entirely."


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"You really gonna marry me?" Daryl asked for at least the sixth time since they'd left the house behind.

He rode beside Carol and just in front of her. The gelding that he'd given her to ride—Runt he called the horse, though Runt seemed of fair size to Carol—was an easy riding horse. Several feet behind them, with her bag tied to his mount, Merle came riding a horse that, in comparison, made Runt live up to his name.

Carol was almost dizzy with the prospect of marrying the man next to her. She was almost dizzy with the change that had happened in her life in the matter of a few moments. This morning she'd woken as a working girl for Andrea—even though she'd been out of work since Daryl's last visit. Now she was on her way to be married to Daryl who rode at her side. And if the wedding went through? She would go to sleep tonight as his wife.

Carol looked at him as they slowly rode along. She watched his face when he was focused on the road in front of him. He rode with a serious expression on his face, but the intensity of it faded whenever she got his attention. He didn't look cross when he was talking to her and she was starting to think that it was just his thoughts that made him look so concerned.

He was handsome. He was strong and healthy. His body was hard to the touch, but his face was still softer than she might have expected. In matters of sex, he was inexperienced and still lacked some confidence in himself, but he was eager to learn and he was eager to please her—something to which she was entirely unaccustomed.

She could grow to love him, she was sure. Especially if he was sincere about really loving her.

She hoped he was sincere. And she hoped, if he was, that the love wouldn't fade to leave her cold and alone.

Love declared, Carol knew, could have a way of fading away to nothing.

"I'm really going to," Carol responded, reassuring Daryl once more that she was going where he was leading her. "If you're really going to marry me," she said, venturing to challenge him for the first time on the ride.

Daryl laughed to himself at her statement.

"'Course I'ma marry you," Daryl said. "What the hell else would I do? Leave you out here on the road?"

"You might," Carol said. "It isn't like there aren't women that get left behind, and that even by lawful husbands."

Daryl studied her. He shook his head.

"No," he said. "I ain't leavin' you behind. You gonna be my wife. My own wife. An' that means I don't leave you behind nowhere. Unless, of course, it's 'cause I'm ridin' out to town or somewhere...somewhere like that. Somewhere you don't wanna go."

Carol laughed to herself at his attempt to explain what he meant. She understood entirely what he was trying to say to her. His intention wasn't to ever leave her, not in the long-term sense, but that didn't mean that there wouldn't be times when they were apart. Those times, Carol knew, were simply natural moments in life. They would be times when he would be busy being her husband—and doing what he would likely call "husband things"—and she'd be busy being his wife and doing what he'd call "wife things". But those times were different than the abandonment to which Carol referred.

"What if I want to go with you everywhere?" Carol asked. "What if...I want to ride out to town with you? To go everywhere you go?"

Daryl shrugged his shoulders even as he rode along.

"Then you'd go, I reckon," Daryl said. "But—I can't say that ever'thing I do is gonna be real nice for you. An' you might get busy. Always something to do on the farm. More, even, once I get more out there. Keep on building after the harvest. You gonna see. There's a lot that's still gotta be done. But I think—I hope you gonna like what's set there now."

Carol's stomach twisted when she thought of the farm— _their farm_ —and all that meant. She would see it tonight, at least as much as the night allowed her to see. She would see her home. At the very least, she would see the place that Daryl expected her to make a home.

"I suppose it'll do just fine, Daryl," Carol said. "Whatever's there."

Daryl hummed at her.

"You sure?" Daryl asked. "That you gonna marry me?"

Carol laughed to herself. The laughter spread a warmth through her body that she couldn't explain—it had nothing to do with the heat of the sun or the dry air around her.

"I'm sure," she responded again. "I'm gonna marry you."

And Carol realized, each time she answered the question that Daryl seemed to need her to answer repeatedly to reassure him, that she was more and more confident in her own reply.

She was going to marry him. And, even if she wasn't sure how much she did at the moment, she was going to love him.

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To have and to hold. To love and to cherish.

To have and to hold. For as long as they both shall live.

Hershel said it all and he said it just right in Daryl's opinion. To have and to hold. To love and to cherish. For all the days that they both might live. That was everything he wanted. It was everything he could ask from his wife—his own wife.

And Carol, standing right there as honest as she could, said it was what she wanted too. She held his hands in hers—her hands were so soft as they rested in his—and she looked in his eyes while she said it. She smiled at him softly with a smile that seemed to carry right on from her lips to her eyes. And she promised, right there in front of Hershel and Miss Jo and their family—right there in front of Merle who thought that whores weren't fit for making wives out of—that she would be his. To have and to hold. To love and to cherish. For just as long as they both lived.

Carol looked different there, in the soft and pretty dress that she was wearing, than she had even in the house of ill-repute. She looked like a softer version herself. She looked lighter. Standing next to Daryl, his own wedded wife, she looked _happy_. She looked happier than he could ever expect anyone to look with nothing more than the likes of him to call a husband. She smiled all the way from her lips to her eyes and she laughed, too, though Daryl had been too busy looking at her to hear the joke that stirred up the laughter.

She kissed him when she married him. She kissed him softly and she held it long enough that it took Daryl's breath away. The way she kissed him made him never want to let her go and, because they were married, he never had to. Not really. Not until the days when they weren't both still alive.

Though Daryl still didn't know what an ill-repute was, Carol looked better away from it and Daryl was glad that he'd taken her far away from it. He was glad that it wasn't something she was going to ever have to live with in the house again.

There wouldn't be room for ill-repute in their home.

When Miss Jo served the meal, she took Carol by the hand as natural as if they'd been friends forever. She tugged her to the kitchen and Carol came back with her carrying a platter of biscuits that she put down in the center of the table right alongside the ham that Miss Jo put down for Hershel to carve and serve. It wasn't Sunday, but just like it was, Daryl and Merle—and now Carol—were invited to sit at the table and eat with the family.

When they bowed their heads and held hands the way that Hershel insisted that they should, he laid a blessing on the food that stretched out for what felt like hours. Daryl barely listened to most of it—the same ideas as always—because he focused on how right Carol's hand felt in his. He focused on how nice it was to have her hand to hold. He only listened to the blessing that Hershel was laying on the food when he heard his name. His pulse picked up a notch when Hershel asked that the Lord—who always listened to Hershel because Hershel knew how to speak to Him just right—bless the union between Daryl and Carol. And that He might also bless their home and bless their farm.

When Hershel said the words, Carol squeezed Daryl's hand in hers and his heart responded by thundering even harder in his chest. When he opened his eyes, the blessing over, he looked at her and he was met with the same sweet smile she'd seemed to be steady wearing since he'd taken her hand and waited for Hershel to start asking them to make their promises for marriage.

Daryl ate well. Carol did too. Everyone ate their fill and there was conversation that circled around the table about the stock and the fences on the back quarter of the farm. Seeing that his plate was growing empty, Miss Jo piled extra biscuits on Daryl's plate and forked him off more of the ham that Hershel had carved and she promised Carol that, if she would come and spend a morning with her, she would show her how to make the biscuits in one of the cast iron pots that she'd sent to their little home.

After dinner there was a pound cake with a thin and crunchy layer of a tart lemon icing that they all washed down with black coffee. Coffee and cake done, Hershel invited Merle and Daryl out to the porch with him to smoke and taste a bit of his special whiskey and Miss Jo invited Carol into her sitting room to "chat" while they waited for the smoking and the drinking to be done.

No meal that Daryl had ever eaten had tasted as good as the one that he was digesting when Hershel passed him a glass of the whiskey that he kept around for special occasions. It was sipping whiskey, not like the whiskey that they bought in town. Daryl rocked back in his chair, his lit cigarette in hand, and couldn't hold back the sigh of satisfaction that escaped him.

"She's a pretty little thing," Hershel offered with a quiet laugh as soon as all the glasses were poured and passed around. Daryl knew that he was speaking about Carol.

"Prettiest woman there is," Daryl said.

"I suppose we're all partial to our wives," Hershel said. "But there's no denying she's a lovely young woman, Daryl."

"Looks different in that flowered frock than she ever looked in Eden," Merle mused.

Daryl didn't miss that Hershel gave Merle a bit of a warning look. Merle didn't miss it either.

"You'll take Nessie and Runt to your farm tonight," Hershel said. "You'll take her out there on horseback. Merle will ride out with you to bring them back. You can walk in tomorrow and we'll see about getting you a barn built. I think there's enough lumber left. You'll need mounts, Daryl."

"I can walk in," Daryl said. "It ain't no long distance."

Hershel hummed at him.

"I saw that today," Hershel said. "It's a nice walk on a nice day. When you've got time to spare and you don't mind stretching your legs. But Carol might not always want to stretch her legs and make the walk. And you never know when there might be an emergency that'll make you wish you had a faster way to get from one place to another."

Daryl licked his lips.

"I can buy horses," he said. "It ain't no problem."

Hershel nodded at him.

"You can," Hershel said. "And I know a man who always has some fine horses for sale. Usually sells several pretty well broke. I bought Runt off him. My daughter's horse, Skeeter. You'll need a barn for shelter. Fences for grazing. Then we'll ride out, you and me, and we'll pick you some for your own. Some nice horses that are good for riding and good for work. You'll appreciate the help on the farm. You'll need two at least. They'll make a nice team, too, once you've got a wagon."

"This ain't the kinda night to talk business," Merle said suddenly. He drew off his cigarette and let out a thick cloud of smoke before he grinned in Daryl's direction. "Ain't ever' night my lil' brotha up an' gets hitched."

Hershel laughed at Merle and raised his glass.

"You're right, son," Hershel agreed. "Tonight isn't a night for talking about business. It's a night for talking about happy marriages. I hope your marriage is as happy as mine, Daryl." He tasted his drink. "I hope it's as blessed. A good woman, Daryl? It's the greatest blessing a man can have. She has a way of—bringing about all the other blessings that make a life worth living."

Merle scoffed and laughed to himself, sounding almost like he was choking on the sipping whiskey that Hershel had poured for him.

"And heartache and trouble too her ass can bring," Merle said. "You know it's true that they's wives make life worth endin' as much as they make it worth livin'."

Hershel hummed, but there was a slight hint of a smile that spread across his face. He rocked his chair quickly.

"They make all kinds of women, Merle," Hershel said. "Just as they make all kinds of men. Sometimes you get out of a wife what you put into her. Same as anything else. Believe me. I know. You put bad in, you get bad out." He hummed. "Of course there are just some women who are a little more set on being _difficult_ than others."

"Carol ain't difficult," Daryl said quickly. "She's easy. Soft an' easy. You seen it."

"That cold metal band on her finger ain't even warmed up yet, brother," Merle said.

Hershel clucked his tongue.

"Carol seems the kind of woman that's a blessing to her husband," Hershel said, his tone almost reprimanding like he was warning Merle for his bad thoughts against wives in general. "And she certainly seems like a blessing to you. I have all ideas, Daryl, that if you treat her like that? If you treat her like the blessing that she is to you? You'll find she makes a fine wife. Just fine." He hummed and rocked and Daryl watched him, tasting the whiskey in his glass. "You might talk her out of that corset she's wearing, though. It might've suited her old life, but it won't suit being a farmer's wife."

"That ain't nothin'," Daryl offered. "Just a dress."

Hershel laughed at him and Daryl felt his cheeks grow warm as soon as he realized that he'd said something that made him look foolish. Merle laughed too, and that didn't make him feel any less embarrassed.

"The corset, Daryl," Hershel said. "What she's wearing _under_ that dress."

Daryl felt a rush of blood go to his face that wasn't related to the moment of embarrassment that he'd felt.

"What you know about what Carol's wearin' under her dress?" Daryl snapped back at the old man.

Hershel only seemed to find Daryl's question every bit as amusing as he'd found his misspeaking about the dress.

"You can tell she's wearin' the corset by her damn shape, lil' brother," Merle offered. "Wraps 'round her tits an' waist. Binds her up. Makes her look smaller'n she is when she comes outta it. Makes her tits look higher'n they sit on they own."

"And it's a bad idea for a farmer's wife," Hershel said. "One of the first things I'd suggest to go. It binds too tight and it limits movement. Makes it harder to breathe, and you don't need that with the heat. Besides—with any luck she'll bare you children and the binding will only hold back the growth that _should_ take place for that to happen. If I were you? I would try to talk her out that corset."

Daryl's stomach did an odd sort of twist at the thought of it. He didn't want Carol wearing anything that was binding. He'd once bound his ribs because a bull had broken a few of them and it had been a miserable feeling. He didn't want her walking around feeling like that on a regular basis.

But that wasn't the whole reason that his stomach twisted. He knew that the natural progression of things was that a man took a wife and his wife bore him children, but that didn't mean that he'd exactly thought of such a thing with Carol. He'd been so focused on making her his wife that he'd completely forgotten to think about the fact that such things came with it.

Suddenly, Daryl felt much more driven to hurry and get the farm running—to buy a team, to start raising the cattle that he planned on raising, and to start building every aspect of their life—because he realized just how quickly things could sneak up on him if he wasn't ready for them. And to take care of Carol like he wanted? He needed to be ready for everything.

"You OK, Daryl?" Hershel asked.

"What?" Daryl asked, snapping out of his thoughts. He realized he was breathing heavier than before and he guessed that, perhaps, Merle and Hershel both could see it.

"Look like you 'bout ready to fall out there, brother," Merle said, his voice more serious than his expression. "You need you some water or somethin'?"

Daryl glanced at the glass of whiskey in his hand. He had barely touched it and he knew that it hadn't affected him at all, but he blamed his moment of lightheadedness on the beverage. He cleared his throat and sat up, holding the offending glass out in the direction of Hershel.

"Just the drink goin' to my head," Daryl said. "Late. Don't wanna ride back too late neither. Want Carol to—she ain't seen the house."

He frowned at his own inability to form what he felt was a coherent argument. Still, Hershel seemed to accept his poorly strung together excuses. Hershel took the glass from him, put it on the small table near him, and stood up.

"I don't expect you'll be working tomorrow," Hershel said. "It's your day off. After that? I expect you'll be in to get whatever supplies you need and keep me updated on progress out there. Anything you need? Don't hesitate to ask. We both want a good yield. We both get out of it what you put in."

Daryl nodded his head at Hershel.

"Yessir," he said. "Thank you for the day tomorrow. I might just get started on the barn. Settin' the posts."

Hershel cleared his throat.

"As you want," Hershel said. "But it's your day off and I wouldn't blame you for taking it. You have a wife now, Daryl. She might be interested in spending some time with you. Come on—let's go inside and tell her that it's time to saddle up."

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Riding back to the farm, with Merle not far behind them on Duke who was still hauling around Carol's belongings, Daryl led Carol's horse. Runt practically knew the way without help, but Daryl tugged him along at any rate to make sure that he didn't misstep or try to head off the trail in any way. Carol rode along in silence, holding over her lap the small bundle that Miss Jo had sent with her. Wedding presents, she called the items in the bundle. Daryl had no idea what she might consider a wedding present—and he didn't really care as long as Carol was pleased with it.

As they neared the small farm that they would call home, Merle humming somewhat loudly behind them, Carol leaned a little in Daryl's direction.

"Is he stayin' with us?" Carol asked.

Daryl hummed at her, caught up in his thoughts enough that he missed the question.

"Is he stayin' with us?" Carol repeated. "Your brother. Is he stayin' with us?"

Daryl glanced over his shoulder. It was already dark enough that he wouldn't have known that it was Merle that was riding behind them if he didn't simply know who it was. He laughed to himself.

"No," Daryl said. "No. He ain't livin' with us. He lives in Hershel's attic. Comes with the job. Board an' food if you want it. He don't live with us."

Carol straightened up and rode a moment more in silence before she somewhat leaned again and spoke once more.

"Then what's he coming for?" Carol asked. "Is there something I oughta—is there something I oughta _know_?"

"What you think you oughta know?" Daryl asked.

"It's just us that—we'll...we're the only ones who are gonna live in our house?" Carol asked.

Daryl hummed in the affirmative.

"Until I reckon we ain't," Daryl said. "Maybe—maybe someday it ain't just us. But...yeah. Just you an' me. You my wife now. I'm your husband. So we gonna live there together. But it ain't no house like where you was livin'. Ain't no house, even, like where I was livin'. So we gonna just be livin' there together. You an' me."

"Then what's he coming with us for?" Carol asked.

From behind them, Merle laughed sincerely.

"He can hear," Merle said. "An' his ears work pretty damn good, lil' lady. Don't'cha worry 'bout nothin'. You my brother's wife an' that's all you is to me. Same as my own sister. I'm just comin' 'cause them mounts you ridin' is borrowed horses an' Hershel wants 'em home to spend the night in the barn. Don't wanna risk losin' 'em to nothin' prowling around out here lookin' for some supper."

"He's just takin' the horses home," Daryl said, echoing Merle's words. "Got your bag, too, on Duke back there. Nothin' more."

"Oh," Carol said softly.

Daryl's stomach churned a little more with nerves as he realized how close they were to getting to their home for the first time. It churned a little as he wondered what Carol would say—and what she might think that she didn't say—about the house he built and the life he'd brought her to.

Daryl cleared his throat.

"You—still happy you married me?" Daryl asked. "Or—you feelin' sorry for it now?"

"I'm not feeling sorry for it, Daryl," Carol said. "Don't worry. I'm not feeling sorry for it at all. I'm just—ready to be there."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Then I got good news for you," Daryl said. "'Cause—we pretty much here."


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **We're catching up to where I've gotten to, so I'll be posting as I'm able. (Real life is hectic, as usual.)**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl lit the lamps that didn't have a difficult time illuminating the small space of the cabin and led Carol inside. He returned with Carol's bag and, after, he saw his brother off. Merle left, as he was intended to do, after gathering up the reins of both Nessie and Runt and offering Daryl some words about his wedding night that Daryl knew better than to give much heed to.

When Daryl stepped back into the cabin, closing the door behind him, he came with a pitcher of water he'd pumped and put it on the table next to the porcelain washbowl that was already waiting there. Putting it down, he looked at Carol standing in the middle of the floor with her hands clasped in front of her. She looked as unsure about touching anything as he'd felt standing in the rooms at her old house. He cleared his throat.

"That dresser there is mostly empty," Daryl said. "So you can put your...you can put whatever you got in there. Put it anywhere you want. The bed? It come from somewhere else. The mattress did, I mean. I made the bed. But the mattress come from somewhere and it's the finest mattress they had. Pillows too. They soft. Softest they had, they said. You—uh—you can do whatever you want with what's here. I didn't really know all about what I should do with it. Just brung it in, but I figured you might know what to do with it all."

Carol looked at him and offered him a smile that was barely more than the turning up of the corners of her mouth. She nodded her head gently at him.

"It's very nice," she said.

Daryl smiled at her.

"All of it's for you," Daryl said. "And if—it ain't what you want? If you need somethin' else, well, you just let me know. We'll build a bigger house. A better one. However you want it. But—it's gonna take a lil' time. Let a harvest come in an' I'ma see what we got. What I can...what I can do."

Carol shook her head at him.

"No," Carol said. "No, I mean...I don't need anything, Daryl. It's very nice. It's really—it's all very nice. You did all of this?"

Daryl shrugged his shoulders. The cabin, he thought, really wasn't that much to look at. It wasn't impressive at all in comparison to some of the houses that he'd seen.

"Merle helped me," Daryl said. "Joey. Hershel—he give me some ideas. But—yeah. I done it."

"For me?" Carol asked.

"That was the idea," Daryl said.

Carol nodded her head and looked around the space again.

"Can I sit?" She asked, pointing to the bed. "Or do you prefer I use a chair?"

"They both yours," Daryl said. "You can do what'cha want."

Carol sat on the bed. She ran her hands over the blankets in a dramatic sweep and drew large circles with them on the blankets.

"Soft," she said.

"And clean," Daryl assured her. "Miss Jo washed everything."

"She's not your mother," Carol observed, her words coming out almost like a question. Daryl supposed she might have some questions for him. He supposed, too, that as time went on he might have some questions for her too.

Daryl shook his head.

"My Ma's dead," Daryl said.

"Mine too," Carol responded.

"Died when I was—'bout this high," Daryl said, demonstrating with his hand about how tall he imagined he was when his mother had passed. "Don't know how old I was. Don't keep track of them things. Merle—he kinda keeps up with it."

Carol shook her head.

"It never mattered to me, either," she admitted. "What was going to happen? It was going to happen whenever it did. No need in worrying about—about what year it was."

Daryl laughed to himself. She'd been tense, but she seemed to be loosening up a little. Daryl picked her bag up and moved it over beside the dresser so that she could unpack it whenever she wanted. Then he picked up the bundle she'd put on the table and offered it to her.

"You know what Miss Jo give you?" Daryl asked. "Or you wanna open this?"

Carol smiled softly at the bundle and reached for it. Daryl passed it to her and she put it to the side. She untied it and offered him a smaller bundle that was inside—something tied up in a bit of ripped cloth that might have come from an old sheet.

"Biscuits and ham for your breakfast," Carol said. "She didn't know what kind of food we'd have here."

"Ain't much," Daryl admitted, putting the biscuits-and-ham bundle on the table. "Not yet. Gonna gather that up tomorrow. Didn't wanna bring it all here in case..." He dropped off and Carol looked at him, wide-eyed and questioning.

"In case?" She asked.

"In case you weren't gonna marry me," Daryl said. "Like everybody said you might'nt do."

She nodded her head gently and returned to her bundle without a word. From the bundle she pulled out all that was left. It looked like nothing more than a mass of folded cloth until she began to unfold it. On the bottom of her small stack was a dress that she unfolded on the bed beside her. It was every bit as simple as the one she was wearing except that it didn't have the floral pattern of the one that she had on. It was just plain white. The second garment she unfolded was another dress, as far as Daryl could tell.

"She gave me a dress," Carol said. "A work dress, she said. Something I didn't have to worry about dirtying. And a nightgown. It's soft."

Daryl smiled to himself. They were thoughtful gifts. He might not have thought of them himself, but he could tell that they were thoughtful from the look on Carol's face.

"I'm glad she give you somethin' you like," Daryl said. "An' a soft nightgown—reckon it's a good thing to have. For sleepin' an' such."

Carol laughed quietly.

"I didn't hardly sleep in anything at Andrea's," Carol admitted. "Sometimes—when it was cold? She had these warm gowns that she liked to sleep in. They were made from—made from something thick and soft. A cloth that was thick and soft. When it would get really cold, she'd pass them out to all of us so that we weren't cold. But most of the time, I hardly slept in anything."

"You don't like to sleep in it," Daryl offered, "then you don't gotta. Can just wear it—wear it whenever you like. Or don't wear it. Miss Jo don't gotta know one way or the other what'cha do when you sleep."

"I think I'll wear it," Carol said, running her hand over the nightgown in question. "If it suits you."

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"Suits me fine," Daryl said. "I ain't the one wearin' it."

Carol laughed quietly again.

"No," she said. "But—you're my husband, so you'll be the one _looking_ at it."

Daryl felt his cheeks run warm.

He was still having a hard time truly realizing that it was all real. It was true. He was her husband. She was his wife. This was their first night together, in their home, but it would be the first night of however many nights they might see in this life.

He had dreamed about it, but it felt different when it was really happening. It felt like he was waiting to find out it was all still, somehow, a dream.

"I like lookin' at you," Daryl said. "No matter what you're wearing."

Carol's own cheeks ran a little pink and she quickly looked away from Daryl and rubbed her hands over the fabric of the garments again. Then she got up from the bed and walked over to the dresser. She opened the drawer, folded the dress, and placed it inside. Then she folded the nightgown and put it on top of the dresser.

From around her neck, she took the chain that she was wearing. The ring had fit her finger well enough, so she'd kept it there after Daryl had put it there while they were saying their vows in front of Hershel. The chain, though, she'd kept to wear around her neck. Now she placed it on top of the dresser.

Carol cleared her throat and looked at Daryl. She offered him another of the soft smiles.

"I have to ask you, Daryl...and it's a hard thing to ask so I don't imagine it's an easy thing to answer but...I have to ask it..."

Daryl felt his blood run cold. He worried that whatever she might have to ask would be something that he hadn't anticipated—something he couldn't handle or couldn't answer. Still, he nodded his head at her.

"Go ahead," he urged.

"Well..." Carol said, drawing the word out as she looked over the small cabin once more. "Why _me_ , Daryl? Why was it me that you wanted to marry? Because—you're handsome. And you're young. And—it's clear you got a way of gettin' whatever you want. So why—why was it me you wanted?"

Daryl shrugged his shoulders. He took his own seat on the bed this time, right where she'd risen from, and Carol turned to face him, crossing her arms across her chest to stand and wait for him to offer an answer that he wasn't even sure he actually had.

"I don't know," Daryl said. "I don't know. You ain't the first to ask me that and I just don't got no better answer now than I had the first night that I was thinkin' about it. Was—the day that I was first there. The first time I was there in Eden. I just—I didn't wanna leave you there. I didn't wanna go. Wanted to stay with you, but I couldn't. Got to thinkin' how nice it would be to be with you all the time. How nice it'd be to...be married to ya."

"Was it the sex?" Carol asked, her brows furrowed.

Daryl swallowed and shook his head.

"Was it the sex?" Carol repeated. "You wanted—to have sex with me more? A lot more? And so you thought it would be nice if I was—with you? All the time for that?"

Daryl shook his head again.

"I liked bein' with you like that," he admitted. "I did. I liked it a lot. Woulda wanted to do that with you more but...that's what you s'posed to do with a wife. Your own wife. And—I liked doin' it just fine, but I figured I'd like it a lot more if we was doin' it as husband and wife. But..."

"But?" Carol urged.

"But most of all? I reckon it was because—I couldn't _stop_ thinkin' of you. When I was trying to sleep, it was you I was thinkin' about. When I was workin'? I kept—doin' stupid things because I was thinking of you. Weren't payin' attention to things I knew I needed to be payin' attention to. I just couldn't stop," Daryl said.

Carol clearly sucked in a breath, her chest rising, and Daryl wasn't sure how to read her expression. She looked a little upset—like she was fretting over something—but he wasn't sure what she was fretting over or how to fix it.

"That enough?" Daryl asked. "Or is you sorry now that you married me?"

Carol looked at him intensely. Her blue eyes shone in the lamplight like they were at least a little damp. Daryl swallowed down the lump that had magically risen up in his throat.

"I'm not sorry I married you," Carol said softly. "But—do you love me?"

Daryl considered it and finally nodded his head.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Don't know that much about it. But—I think I do."

Carol nodded her head at him.

"Do you love me?" Daryl ventured, almost fearing the answer.

Carol sighed.

"I don't know," she said. "But—if I don't? I think I _will_."

Daryl nodded his understanding. Love was a complicated thing. And since nobody had ever exactly told him what it was supposed to feel like, he could easily imagine that Carol might not know any better than him if she felt it or not.

"That's OK, then," Daryl said. "I think that's OK. You think it is?"

Carol laughed to herself. She looked around, turning her face away from him for a second, and then she shook her head like she was telling the oil lamp not to do whatever it was doing—like the flickering flame was disobeying her. She looked back at Daryl and offered him the soft smile that she had given him earlier.

"I think it's better than a lotta people get married for," Carol said. "I think it's better—it's better than a lotta people are doing. But—I don't want you to change your mind."

Now it was Daryl's turn to laugh. It was a laugh that caught in his chest because he felt the sensation that came with it so sincerely. He shook his head at her.

"There ain't been nothin' in my whole life I wanted more'n I wanted you to marry me," Daryl said. "Even—even when we was half-starved comin' out here and I thought sometimes I'd give all I had to have something to eat? Even then I didn't want that food half as much as I wanted you to marry me. I don't change my mind too much. Once I get good an' set on somethin'? I'm just set on it. Hard and fast. Always been that way." Carol looked a little lighter. There was a change in how she held herself. She readjusted her whole body as she stood there, arms crossed across her chest, right in the middle of their floor. "You gonna change your mind?" Daryl asked.

Carol shook her head.

"No," Carol said. "I'm not going to change my mind. If I even thought of changing it? I wouldn't have made it all the way to saying vows with you. I woulda changed it on the road." She sucked in a breath and let it out. "But I didn't. And I won't."

"That's good then," Daryl said. "I like that."

Carol's smile widened a little. She cocked her head at him and the smile she gave him, different from the one before, curled up more on one side than the other. She reached her hands up and burrowed around in the mess of red curls she wore piled on her head and, one by one, she pulled out a number of black pins that she rested on the dresser with the rest of the items she'd gone storing there. As she freed the pins, her hair fell down, cascading over her shoulders in a nest of curls that was no less unruly than it had been before it gained its freedom. Carol ran her fingers through her hair, shaking out the curls, before she faced Daryl square on.

"I'm your wife now," Carol said. Daryl nodded his head. "And you're my husband." He nodded his head in agreement again. "And—as my husband, I got some things I hope...some things I _want_ from you."

Daryl swallowed and nodded his head.

"Whatever you want," Daryl said. "I can get it for you. Build it. Do it. You just—just gotta tell me what'cha want. 'Cause what you see here? It's about all I could come up with on my own. And I ain't gonna lie. I had more...more'n a lil' help gettin' all this together or I wouldn'ta thought of the half of it."

Carol laughed quietly and shook her head.

"No," she said. "Not things I want you to _buy_ me, Daryl. Or—not even things you can give me. Not things you can see. There's things I want you to do. What I want you to be. You wanna hear them?"

Daryl nodded his head.

He absolutely wanted to hear them. He knew some basic things about being a husband—things he'd picked up here and there from watching men that were already husbands and from hearing them talk about that profession, but he knew there were always things that he needed to learn because he hadn't learned them all.

"I want you to...love me," Carol said. "As much as you can." Daryl nodded his head.

"OK," he agreed.

"For as long as you can," Carol said.

"Hershel said for all our days," Daryl said. "So—I reckon I'ma love you for all of the days I got."

Carol nodded her head.

"And I don't want you to leave me," Carol said. "Never. You can go where you need to go. To town. To the farm we were at. To do—to wherever you need to go. But you can't never leave me behind. Not here. Not anywhere. Not for good."

Daryl shook his head, surprised that she would request that he agree to this when he remembered agreeing to it already.

"Ain't leavin' you," Daryl said. "Not for all them same days that I'm lovin' you."

"I don't want you to hit me," Carol said. She frowned at him and shook her head at him. "Never. I don't want—I don't want you to hit me."

Daryl swallowed hard, the lump in his throat growing bigger because of the look in her eyes.

"No," he said. "I ain't gonna hit'cha."

"Not even when you're angry," Carol said. "Or if I should do somethin' wrong. Somethin' that you don't like. Not even then."

Daryl shook his head again.

"Not even then," he said. "Not never." Carol nodded her head, her expression making it look like she was still chewing on something. "Somethin' else?" Daryl asked.

She hesitated a moment, but finally she spoke.

"I don't want'cha to love anybody else, Daryl," Carol said. "Not—not the same as you love me. Not as your wife. I don't want you loving some other woman like she was your wife."

Daryl shook his head.

"You only get one wife," Daryl said. "As I understand it. Just the one for all the days that you live. Weren't that the whole—forsaking others thing?"

"Some men forget that part," Carol offered.

"I 'member it," Daryl said.

Carol sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She nodded her head.

"That's all," she said. "That's all that I know that I want. All that I know to expect."

"And if I do that, I'm a good husband?" Daryl asked.

"To me, you are," Carol offered.

"I guess you the only wife I gotta be a good husband to," Daryl observed.

Carol walked over to the bed and sat down next to Daryl. She leaned her head against his shoulder and Daryl's pulse picked up at the mere touch of her.

"What about me?" Carol asked.

"What about you?" Daryl asked.

"What do you want from me?" Carol asked. "What's—what'll make me a good wife for you? What'll make me what you want me to be? Make it easier for you to be the good husband that I'm asking you to be?"

Daryl turned his hands, palm up, on his legs.

"I told you," Daryl said. "I don't got too much idea of what I want you to do. You gonna—make us a home. Make food for us to eat. Be here. Stay right here with me. Guess—I want'cha to love me too. If you can. Be sweet to me. Soft like you is. Sleep with me at night. Keep warm with me right here—'specially when the winter comes."

Carol reached a hand over and placed her hand on top of his. It was small and dainty next to his. Her skin was white and soft next to the rough skin on his palms. She entwined her fingers with his.

"I don't know if I can make the kind of home that you want," Carol said. "Or that you'll like the food that I cook. But I promise you—I'll do the best I can. And Daryl?"

Daryl hummed at her.

"I can love you," Carol said. "For now and for—for all the days that we both live? I _can_ love you."

Daryl's chest tightened like it might close up and he forced himself to cough to try to loosen the sensation.

"I already knowed you were gonna be the best kinda wife for me," Daryl offered.

Carol moved her head from his shoulder and she touched his face. With her fingertips against his jaw, she turned his face toward her. Daryl looked at her, since that was what she seemed to want him to do, and he watched her lips as they curled up in a smile again. Warm and sincere. He watched her lips until she moved to touch them to his. As soon as her lips made contact with his, Daryl felt the warm heat flood his body that came from every one of her kisses and he responded, angling himself to wrap his arms around her.

She pulled away after a moment and stood. She worked the tiny white buttons on the front of her dress until she stepped out of the garment. She folded it a little more carelessly than she'd folded the dress and nightgown before and she placed it on top of the dresser where all her possessions were slowly building up and then she slipped her fingers in the top of the undergarment she was wearing, beginning to unhook it from what looked like a series of tiny metal hooks that ran the full length of it.

Daryl cleared his throat.

"That—uh...is that a corset?" Daryl asked.

Carol stopped unsnapping it. She looked at it like she'd never seen it before. Then she looked back at Daryl.

"I know it's not a nice one," she said. "Andrea had much nicer ones but—it's the best I've got."

Daryl shook his head.

"Weren't what I asked," he said. "Just asked—is that what a corset is?"

Carol laughed quietly and Daryl felt his cheeks burn warm with the reminder of his earlier embarrassment. Perhaps he was the only man in the world who didn't know what a corset was.

"It is," Carol said softly. "You like it?"

Daryl shook his head.

"No," he said. "I don't. Don't—don't want'cha to wear it. Not no more."

Carol frowned and the frown, like her smile earlier in the evening, carried all the way to her eyes and turned her eyebrows down to the point that they very nearly knitted together.

"You don't like it?" Carol asked.

Daryl shook his head.

"It ain't that it looks bad or nothin'," Daryl offered. "But Hershel says—well, he says that it's tight. Bindin'. That it makes it hard to move an' to breathe and they things you just gotta do. Things you'll be doin' here on the farm. And—I mean—if we was to have children? You don't need to be wearin' it no way. Smashin' 'em while they ain't even growed."

"I thought you would like it," Carol said.

Daryl was sorry that he said anything because she looked almost crushed by the suggestion that she was wearing something he might have a problem with. He searched for a way out of what he'd said, but he couldn't find it.

"If you like it, you can wear it," Daryl said. "But—I like you as you was. As you is. Without it." He fought back against the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach—a feeling like the worms that had been living in his brain had up and moved to make a new home in his gut. "But if you like it..."

"I don't like it," Carol said. "But—Andrea said it makes a woman look good. Makes us shaped—how you like it. As a man."

"Look alright to me," Daryl said. "Just as you is. You look—look like you put together how you s'posed to be."

Carol nodded her head and came the rest of the way out of the garment. When she was free from it, she slipped out of her underwear and put both on top of her bag instead of on top of the dresser. Maybe she felt the piece of furniture, at this point, was simply too overflowing. She stood there, bare skinned, in the same way that she had in Eden—just like she was offering him the chance to approve of her.

Daryl shifted around on the bed because his body seemed to naturally approve of her.

Carol gestured toward the water pitcher that Daryl had placed beside the bowl on the table.

"I can wash you," Carol said. "Or—you could wash yourself. However you like."

Daryl swallowed and nodded his head. He didn't give her any words to tell her which he would like, but she moved away from him at any rate. It didn't take her long to find a cloth—all on her own—to dip into the water. Twisting it, she sucked her teeth.

"Tomorrow night I'll know more about everything," Carol said. "Tomrrow night? The water will be warm. Tonight, though, I'm afraid it's cold. It won't take long, though, and I'll warm you plenty afterwards."

Daryl laughed to himself and stood up. He shucked his clothes as quickly as he could and left them a little more haphazardly on the floor than Carol had done with her garments. He stared at them, not sure what he should do with them since he and Merle weren't exactly tidy with their attic room, and Carol shook her head when she saw him looking at them.

"Don't worry about them," Carol said softly. "I'll take care of it. Come here. I'll wash you."

Daryl stepped forward, careful not to fall over the mess that he'd made himself, and Carol did exactly what she'd declared she'd do. She washed him gently and methodically. While she washed him, she trailed her fingertips across his skin after each pass of the cloth until he felt like all the parts of his body were more awake than they'd ever been before. He felt like he might, as he'd done the first time they were together, simply make a mess of her before anything had come from what they were doing.

But he didn't.

Daryl watched as Carol wiped herself down when she'd finished with him. He watched the small bumps raise up on her skin to say that she thought the water was cold. He saw her nipples wake up and stand at attention, appearing just as hard and awake as parts of his body felt.

And when she was done, Carol took him by the hand and led him to their bed where she pulled the blankets back and invited him to lie down. Daryl had never been in the bed before. He'd been saving it, like a gift, for the first night that Carol would join him. It was soft and comfortable and it was just like a dream when she slipped in beside him and pressed her body against his. She kissed his chest and ran her fingers gently over his skin and Daryl tugged at her, suggesting that she should come over on top of him.

She listened to him. Without him even saying a word, Carol listened to him.

She straddled him and, much like the first time that they were together, she rubbed herself against him—wet and warm. Daryl brought his hands to her hips and sunk his fingers into the soft skin that he found there. She responded to his hold by moving forward and backward over him until he couldn't properly draw breath and started to think that he'd suffocate.

But just before he suffocated, Carol kissed him sweetly and she raised herself to guide him into her, lowering herself against him once more.

Daryl saw her eyes close just before he closed his own. He moved with her—up into her—and she met him with each thrust. He didn't open his eyes again until he felt himself drawing near the point where he knew it would all end. Carol was staring at him, intently, her mouth slightly open. Seeing his eyes open, she closed hers and reached her hand between them to rub herself, her fingers causing friction on his skin as well for the closeness between their bodies.

She made a sound at him that was something like a soft hiccup—a sharp intake of air. Like she'd been as close to suffocating as he had, she drew in a breath that didn't seem to end and she sped up her movements.

Daryl lost all control of himself, still driving his hips upward and into her to milk out the last bit of pleasure that he could from the encounter, when she rolled her neck backward and dug the nails of her unoccupied hand hard into his side.

Panting, just as he was, Carol leaned forward and rested her body against Daryl's. In the moment he slipped free from her, Daryl felt the familiar sadness that he'd felt in Eden when it had all ended—when he'd been forced to dress again and go.

Carol kissed the side of his face repeatedly and she rubbed her face against his, her hands pressing into his cheek and pushing it against her.

"What did I do wrong?" She asked, whispering in his ear.

Daryl was surprised by the question.

"Nothin'," he answered back, his voice a little hoarse from the sudden dryness of his throat. "You never do nothin' wrong."

"Why are you sad?" Carol asked, still whispering with her lips almost touching Daryl's ear.

"Because it's over," Daryl said. "Because—it's when you tell me...I gotta dress. I gotta go. It's really done."

Carol laughed quietly in his ear and the vibration tickled enough that Daryl accidentally jerked his head away from her.

"You don't have to go," Carol said, sliding to the side of him and putting her face directly in his line of vision. "You don't have to go nowhere. There's nowhere else to go. This is where you go now. It's _home_."

The words made Daryl's chest tighten again, but the flooding feeling that ran through him was entirely different than the one of fear that had come before.

He smiled at Carol.

"Don't go nowhere," he said.

Carol shook her head.

"No," she said, biting her lip.

"Stay right here," Daryl said.

Carol nodded her head.

"Yeah," she said softly.

Daryl sighed and sunk back into the pillow that was behind him. He moved his arm to slide it under her and she lifted her body to make it easier for him. He pulled her against him and she came easily, resting her body tightly next to his.

"Home," Daryl said. Carol hummed at him. Daryl closed his eyes and, for just a moment, he enjoyed how such a thing as _home_ felt.

"Daryl?" Carol asked, catching Daryl's attention. He opened his eyes again and looked at her. Her brows were furrowed, but there was also a hint of a smile playing at her lips. He hummed at her to suggest that she continue speaking. "Are you sorry you married me?" Carol asked, echoing the question that Daryl had asked her before.

"No," Daryl assured her. "And I ain't never gonna be."

The smile that Carol gave him, too, said that she felt the same. And the feeling it gave Daryl, when he saw that smile on her face, was the warmest feeling that ever he'd felt before.


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **This chapter is a little shorter than some of the others. It's the morning after the wedding, and then it's something of a transition chapter. There's more to come, but I wanted you to know that this one is something of a turning point to show where we are and set us up for where we're going next.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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When Daryl woke there was barely any light coming through the small windows of the cabin. Before he was even fully awake, he slowly took inventory of his surroundings. When he'd been travelling with Merle, some time ago, between Georgia and "West," he'd learned well the sensation of waking in places that were strange and unknown to him. He'd learned the sensation, almost every morning, of waking into something that felt like a new world and a new life.

This morning, though, he truly woke to a new life.

Daryl's bed was empty, except for him, and finding it cold and empty made him open his eyes with a start. He found that Carol hadn't left him. Or, at least, she hadn't gone far. Carol was sitting at their little table with a bowl in front of her. In the bowl she'd arranged the ham and biscuits that Miss Jo had sent with them. Carol had her face buried in her arms as she leaned on the table.

"If you was set on sleepin'," Daryl offered. "Why'd you leave the bed?"

Carol jumped, clearly not expecting him to be awake. She sat up, but her face immediately gave away the fact that she wasn't happy. She wasn't happy at all.

"Not sleeping," she said softly.

"Why you cryin'?" Daryl asked. "Somethin' I done or...didn't do?"

Carol shook her head and swiped at her face and eyes with her palms.

"I don't even know how you like your coffee," Carol said. "I don't know if you like it strong. I don't know if you like it—weak. I got coffee here and a little sugar, but there's no milk and I don't even know if you like it with milk."

Daryl chewed at his thumb and watched her.

"Told you," Daryl said, "that I don't got much in the way of food here. Not this morning. Not right now. Miss Jo said we could get some from there. Food I was owed anyway for workin'. Food I would be owed for workin' this place. For what Hershel gets outta the harvest. Food to keep us goin' until we growin' our own. Get you a lil' garden. Cows and chickens. Pigs too. I'ma set traps. Hunt when I can. Build you a smokehouse. I can ride into town. You too. Get what'cha want from the general store. Carol—we ain't got a lot right now, but that's just right now. Just this mornin'. We ain't gonna starve. I ain't gonna let that happen."

Carol shook her head at him.

"What kind of wife am I?" Carol asked. "When I can't even make my husband coffee of a morning?"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You the best kinda wife," Daryl said. "I mean—you cryin' a bit more'n I woulda thought you would right off, but you the best kinda wife. I'm the husband that ain't give you what'cha needed."

Carol continued to swipe at her face a moment and then she wiped her nose on the tail of the nightgown she was wearing. Slowly she seemed to bring it all together and to dry up the tears that she'd been crying. She looked at Daryl and she shook her head at him.

"You have...you've given me everything," Carol said. "All of this..."

"But I didn't give you no food for fixin' so you wouldn't have to cry over not havin' it to fix," Daryl offered.

Carol frowned deeply, but Daryl could easily assume that the expression was some leftover residue from the emotions that had stirred up all the tears.

Daryl understood tears. They'd always been something he'd struggled with and, though they weren't proper for a man, he figured that a woman could use them any time she pleased. He just hoped Carol didn't have to use them often because he knew the awful feelings that he usually felt when he was worried about being worked up to tears. They were usually the kinds of feelings that made it seem like something wild had gotten caught up in his gut and was trying to chew its way out. Or like something was squeezing his chest hard enough to cut off his air. They weren't feelings that he wanted for Carol.

"I'ma go now," Daryl said. "I can go right now. Get'cha the food I didn't bring from Miss Jo. That's some. I can get Nessie and Runt. Bring 'em back here and you and me? We can go to town. Get whatever else you need."

Carol shook her head at him.

"No," she said. "No. You don't have to go right now. We don't have to go right now. I just—I don't know how you like your coffee, Daryl. I don't know how to make you coffee in the morning that you'll like."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I like it just about any way it's give to me," Daryl said. "Without nothing. With sugar. With milk and sugar. It don't make no never mind to me. I drink it how you give it to me."

"But how do you _like_ it?" Carol asked. "Because—if I'm going to be the best wife that I can be? I have to do things like you like them, Daryl. I wanna know how you like them."

Daryl sat up in the bed. His first instinct was to cover himself and hide his nakedness from Carol, but then he remembered that he didn't have to do that. She was his wife. His nakedness was something that didn't offend or in-sense her. He gnawed at his thumb nail, contemplating her great worry that he would be unhappy with something she did. He couldn't imagine not being happy with everything she did.

"How you like it?" Daryl asked.

"With milk," Carol said.

Daryl nodded his head.

"Then that's how I like it too," he offered. "But—since we ain't got no milk, you reckon we could drink it without milk right now and then we just—from here on have it with milk? 'Cause Hershel's got a milk cow over there that he said we could take off his hands. He was gonna sell her anyway and—I told him I'd just pass him a couple dollars for her. Can't bring her right now 'cause I don't got the barn up, but soon as I got it up? And until I do we can just—bring some of the milk?"

Carol smiled at him. It was more sincere than some of the smiles that she'd worn even the night before.

"What if we drink it black," Carol said, "until you get the barn up? And then? We can celebrate the barn bein' up by drinkin' the coffee with milk then?"

Daryl liked that idea. He liked it a lot, actually. And he liked the smile that it put on Carol's face. He nodded his head, agreeing with her.

"You sure you like it like that?" Daryl asked.

"I'll make the coffee, Daryl," Carol said, standing up. "Here." She picked his pants up from the back of the other chair where she'd draped them. "You start your morning. I brought water in. Wash your face. I'll go make the coffee. You'll have it with your biscuits for breakfast."

Daryl took his pants and started to work his way into them.

"You make the coffee," he said, "and we'll split the biscuits."

"There's hardly enough there for you to eat," Carol said.

"If there's enough for me to eat," Daryl offered, "there's enough for both us to eat. And if there ain't? There's just enough for you."

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Carol was almost terrified, when she first arrived at her new home, that she would find being Daryl's wife to be impossible. She feared that she would find it difficult to please him and that he'd rarely be happy. She worried that she would displease him at every turn and, like her first husband—of whom she'd chosen never to speak—he would consider her a failure at being a wife.

It didn't take her long, though, to discover that her fears were entirely unfounded. Being Daryl's wife, Carol quickly learned, wasn't half as hard as she'd anticipated it would be. It seemed that he was pretty honest with his expectations.

Almost immediately, Daryl had gone to work on their little farm. From town and from their neighbors—if such a word could be used to describe the Greenes who lived some distance away—Daryl stocked their pantry to the point that Carol was sure they'd survive clear until the winter without problem. Seeing their immediate needs were out of the way, Daryl had built them the most important things that they needed. He'd set them an outhouse in less than a day and his brother had come over to help him quickly build a rabbit hutch and a chicken coop—both of which had been almost immediately stocked with animals that Daryl bought off the old man.

With chickens and rabbits to tend, Carol had an immediate purpose. In addition, the old woman had given her some seeds to start her own little garden—nothing more than a small square plot that would produce food for immediate meals and a little leftover for canning—and Carol had reveled in the feeling of digging in the dirt and imagining bringing to life the food that would feed her husband. Her husband who ate everything she fed him like it was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted.

Her days were predictable and simple. They were repetitive and peaceful.

In the morning she rose with the sun or a little before. She tried to wake before Daryl and, if she did, she offered him the opportunity to take advantage of her body since most mornings he woke up with the natural inclination to do so. The mornings she made about him—all about him—and she left him, rolling in the bed with the good feelings she tried to give him, while she made his breakfast. Daryl liked coffee for breakfast, still black because the barn wasn't built, and he liked whatever was left over from supper—biscuits and cold meat were his favorite breakfasts.

As soon as Daryl was fed, he was out the door. He worked tirelessly, going between tasks all day long. He worked the land. He built. He traipsed back and forth on borrowed horses and brought supplies in a borrowed wagon. He lost himself entirely in his work, so Carol lost herself entirely in hers.

Carol ate her breakfast after Daryl was out the door and she washed up their dishes along with anything leftover to be washed from the night before. Then she turned to her other work. When she wasn't tending her garden and the animals in her care, Carol washed their clothes and prepared their meals. She scrubbed their floors and kept their little home clean. She called Daryl in—because he'd forget to come on his own—when it was time for lunch and she fed him something akin to what he'd had for breakfast. There was always more at lunch, though, because Daryl worked up an appetite putting their life together for them. As soon as he'd eaten, Daryl would return to his work and Carol would return to hers.

And when she couldn't find something that absolutely needed her attention, she ventured out to where Daryl worked and offered her hand to help him. He refused to let her drive a nail or carry boards—sure that it was too hard for her and afraid that she'd be somehow hurt—but he'd let her hold nails for him and he'd let her help him carry anything that was light enough to bundle in her skirt.

Just as soon as Carol would see the sky changing so that the sun warned her it would soon be starting the last leg of its descent, allowing the moon to take over in the sky, Carol would return to the house. She'd ready their dinner and she'd call Daryl inside. While he finished the last of his meal—always eating more because she served him a meal fit for a man who worked like he did—Carol would draw up the water for a bath and heat it _just enough_ over the fire that still burned low from cooking their evening meal. She'd douse the fire before she came inside, and she'd pull the bar down over the door and lock it once she was in for the night.

Daryl liked to be bathed and Carol took her time with his bath. She washed him carefully and thoroughly. As the practice became more and more common, and as he showed an interest, Carol let him wash her as well. He seemed to enjoy bathing her as much as he enjoyed receiving a bath himself.

And then, both of them tired from the day, they would go to bed.

Sometimes they slept and did nothing more. Sometimes Carol taught Daryl things that they could do together. Her husband, she soon learned, had an almost insatiable need to learn more about sex. He wanted to learn more about what they could do together. He wanted to learn more about all the things that he believed were somehow secrets that only certain people knew about. But, more than anything, he was an eager student to learn about Carol's body and what he could do to pleasure her.

And though he was clumsy at first, he was such an eager student that Carol seldom fell asleep dissatisfied with the experiences that they shared.

And just like that, their lives went on for some time. Each day was comfortable and happy—just like Daryl had promised. Every day was full of work and snatches of shared moments together. Each night was warm and safe and marked by sleep that felt well-earned.

Slowly the crops that Daryl tended grew and promised to be something when the time came to harvest them.

Slowly the garden that Carol tended grew and promised to yield food that she could prepare for meals and can for the winter.

Eggs were eaten and others hatched to provide chicks that Carol did her best to raise for future food and egg production. Rabbits grew and mated, producing more rabbits that would, in turn, produce more rabbits. Eventually, Carol was sure, they'd have far more of the creatures than they could even stand to eat and, like the Greenes, they would be eager to hand them off to anyone else who wanted to raise their own.

Eventually the barn went up. The fences, too, went up around it. Daryl soon brought them two dairy cows to put in the fences and then, another shelter built and other fences added, he brought three pink pigs that would eventually grow themselves into hogs.

With the promise of a winter that would eventually come, Daryl built a shelter that he stocked with wood he cut and stacked in neat columns for their tiny fireplace. He built a smokehouse and he hunted, early in the mornings, for deer that he brought home, cleaned, and hung inside.

Slowly other fences went up and there was the promise that, with the harvest, their money would buy the starting heads of cattle for them to raise.

And never once did Daryl seem dissatisfied with his life. He seemed, just as he'd said he would, to always regard Carol as the best kind of wife that she could be. He seemed to love her for everything that she was and he seemed to believe that she was wonderful at anything she even tried.

Carol soon learned that not only could she come to love Daryl, but she had already learned to love Daryl. She'd learned to love him more than she ever imagined possible. She'd learned to love everything about him. And it hadn't taken nearly the time that she'd imagined it might.

Daryl, Carol found, was an easy man to love.


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **Believe it or not, a good bit of research has gone into this fic (and will continue to go into the details). I've learned quite a few things that I didn't know. However, I'm sure there are some things that are not 100% accurate since I'm no expert. I ask that you kindly suspend disbelief for those few things.**

 **I hope that you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think!**

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The wagon was loaded down and it was the second load they were taking to sell. Hershel's crops had gone out first—mostly for him to get a good idea of the market and what the buyers he usually worked with were offering—but now the wagon mostly held what Daryl had to sell. Daryl had never so much as ridden with Hershel to do any of the business-end work of farming. He'd always helped on the farm, and he'd helped to load the wagon, but he really only had a loose idea of what happened once everything was loaded up and on its way.

They set out early in the morning and Daryl left Carol to tend the farm. He knew that she'd spend most of the day busy, as she always did, and he'd already told her that he'd be home in time for supper—if he didn't manage to make it home earlier. Hershel drove the wagon—since it was his wagon and he knew where they were going—and Daryl rode along beside him and watched as they went farther out than Daryl had been in years. They very nearly made it to the next town before Hershel stopped at a place that looked like a cross between the freight business he'd seen in town and a market.

"This man had some pretty fair prices," Hershel said, keeping his voice low so that only Daryl could hear him. "And he was lookin' to pick up a good bit more because he ships it himself."

"He's gonna buy all this?" Daryl asked.

"He might," Hershel said. "If he don't? There's a place about five miles from here that's likely to buy it. They're not offering quite as good on everything, but a sell is better than letting anything go to waste."

Hershel tied the reins so that they wouldn't get lost and hopped down off the wagon. Daryl followed suit and followed the old man as he set the wheels to keep the wagon from shifting in any direction.

"What if I don't get it all sold, Hershel?" Daryl asked.

Hershel laughed to himself.

"You'll sell it all," Hershel said. "Every bit. If it doesn't sell here? It'll sell in town. There are at least a dozen people within a ten mile radius that I know who are lookin' to feed operations, Daryl. If we have to, which we won't, we'll sell door to door." He shook his head at Daryl. "But we won't have to."

The man with whom Daryl supposed they were to have dealings stepped out of the market-freight building set on the side of the road and threw a hand up to greet them. Hershel returned the gesture and Daryl followed suit.

"You keep quiet, son," Hershel said. "Let me do the dealin' this round. Next yield? It's all yours."

Daryl nodded his understanding and kept close to Hershel as the old man closed the gap between them and the man they hoped would buy their wagon full of crops. Daryl wasn't offended—not in the slightest –that Hershel wanted him to remain quiet while he handled the deal. He didn't know what he was doing and Hershel did. Hershel knew what the crop was worth and he knew how to negotiate a good deal for it. Daryl didn't know either—but he could learn. And watching Hershel handle the deal was how he was going to learn.

Daryl watched as Hershel and the other man—who introduced himself as George T. Wiles, without specifying what the "T" stood for or why it was particularly important—exchanged some quick chatting about the weather, the winter to come, and the freight business. Daryl listened as George T. Wiles told them about wagons that had been going in and out all day—none of which Daryl had seen while they were on the road—carrying crops to places where he did business. George T. Wiles, as Daryl could see it, must be a hell of a businessman.

And then, the conversation turning to such crops as the wheat and other goods that Daryl had to offer, Hershel brought up the business that they'd come there to do. He took George T. Wiles over to have a look in the back of the wagon and to see what he might want from what Daryl had to offer. He assured George that the wheat, especially, was of the highest quality—since that was what seemed to have the greatest interest of the man at the moment—and George seemed to agree.

Daryl's throat almost went entirely dry when George offered him forty cents on the bushel for the wheat—and his heart nearly stopped when Hershel not only refused the offer, but looked downright offended by it.

"I know a man not five miles from here offering twice that much," Hershel said.

George laughed and shook his head.

"Lotta crops changin' hands right now," George said. "Lotta prices goin' down. Supply an' demand—you heard? More we got headin' outta here, the less it's worth."

"You keep your forty cents on the bushel," Hershel said. "'Cause I know we can get a better price five miles down."

"You won't get no better'n that," George warned. "And—by the time you get down there and get back? It's liable to have changed again. The prices ain't steady right now. Changing constantly. Another wagon come in here while you're gone and I might not even be seeking no wheat from you."

Daryl felt hot panic rise up in him. Forty cents on the bushel wouldn't make him rich, but it would buy horses. It would buy seeds. It would buy enough that he could expand the farm by another fifty acres, maybe. And, clearing those fifty acres for wood that he'd sell and split with Hershel, he could buy another fifty acres and the seed to plant it. It could buy canning jars for Carol and it could start to pay back some of the loan that Daryl felt he owed to Hershel for building materials—materials that he'd need more of if they were to have a bigger and better house for their future.

Forty cents on the bushel could help to guarantee a yield for the coming year that would hold he and Carol fairly comfortable for the whole year.

But Hershel adamantly refused the price. Daryl stood back, fighting the urge to break in himself and swear that Hershel wasn't in charge anymore, and listened as the two men quarreled back and forth over the price of things. Finally, set on considering the decent price an insult, Hershel headed back toward the wagon and barked at Daryl to go with him. They were headed down the road—just five more miles until this guaranteed "good sale"—and they still had a good deal of business to do in town before the sun went down. They weren't wasting any more time with a man that was out to do nothing more than cheat and swindle them.

With a heavy heart, and a fairly heavy stomach that made Daryl feel like he'd swallowed down hot stones instead of Carol's good biscuits for breakfast, Daryl followed Hershel back to the wagon and got himself situated riding shotgun.

Hershel unblocked the wheels and got on the wagon himself. He untied the reins and made ready to move on a piece.

And then George T. Wiles stopped them. He stopped them to tell them that, maybe, he'd been a little unfair. Maybe he hadn't considered their _need_. Maybe he could see a way of giving them a bit more—but only if they were willing to make a good deal on some of the assorted produce that came besides the wheat—and then he offered them a full sixty-five cents on the bushel that almost made Daryl go lightheaded.

Daryl was terrified that Hershel, his face set in the anger and offense that he'd felt earlier, would refuse the deal, but he felt his breathing coming easier again when Hershel smiled slightly and nodded his head.

"Sixty-five cents on the bushel for the wheat," Hershel said. "That done? We'll talk about the rest. I got at least a half-dozen other buyers interested in what else we got. So—I'm afraid you're gonna have to match them. Or we can't make it an all at once deal."

"You drive a hard bargain," George T. Wiles expressed from the ground.

"Just lookin' for a fair one," Hershel said. "Lookin' for fair business. After all—have to know who to come to when the next crop comes in."

"Come down off the wagon," George responded. "Let's—get the wheat unloaded. We'll have a drink. Talk about the rest."

Hershel laughed to himself and agreed. He tied the reins again and he looked at Daryl, offering him a wink as he hopped back off the wagon to take care of business.

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So much money in his possession at one time almost made Daryl nervous. He could barely breathe, just thinking about it, as he'd ridden back with Hershel to town. The first stop they made was to buy the seeds that Daryl would need to buy. The seller was someone that Hershel knew—someone he'd done a good bit of business with—and his prices were more than fair. The amount of seed he'd given them was daunting to Daryl, but he intended to plant more—so that meant that he'd need more seed.

Daryl also made the purchase of a few assorted seeds, under Hershel's recommendation, for Carol's garden.

A quick stop by the general store followed and Daryl made the purchase, alongside Hershel's purchase, of some jars for canning. He bought, also under Hershel's assistance, some cloth for making clothes so that Carol could work with Jo to sew some things that they might need as their old clothes wore out.

As soon as they'd left, their numerous purchases acquired and the wagon loaded, Daryl found that he was finally actually ready to speak to Hershel about all that he'd seen and experienced that morning.

"How'd you know, Hershel, that man was gonna buy?" Daryl asked.

Hershel laughed to himself.

"I didn't," Hershel said. "But I had a hunch. You had a good crop. For spring wheat? It was good. Your winter wheat? That's going to be your best harvest, son. It's going to sell better than what you just unloaded."

"That why we bought so much?" Daryl asked.

Hershel hummed at him.

"That land out there? Daryl—I own about three hundred acres all around you. That's in addition to the two hundred that I'm working. Now—you're not set to work it all right now, but eventually you might be. It's best to increase a little with each harvest," Hershel said. "You'll get the feel for it then. You'll figure out what you can expect from yourself. Another fifty acres for planting and clearing that back one hundred for cattle and you'll be ready to keep expanding, little by little."

"I don't know if I can do all that alone," Daryl said.

"You can't," Hershel assured him. "And you won't. You won't expand that much this time. You can probably handle your winter wheat yourself. What you're going to plant this year, at least. The dozen head I'm going to cut for you won't be that much of a problem to get you started. Take Merle to help you get some wind breaks up for 'em. You sell your winter crop, you might find you're ready to expand. Ready to hire. If not then? By the time you're planting next year's winter crop, you'll be ready."

"What if I fail at all this?" Daryl asked. "What if I don't get nothin'? What if I can't raise no cows off the ones you give me?"

" _Sell_ you," Hershel corrected about the cows. "For labor. Paid in advance. I'm not giving you the cows, Daryl. You've _earned_ them. For the amount of money you just put in my pocket? Labor free? The cows are yours as an investment."

"An investment?" Daryl asked.

"On your future," Hershel said. "And on mine."

"And if I run the damn thing in the dirt?" Daryl asked. "If I don't turn no profit?"

"You already turned a profit," Hershel offered. "And that's just the start."

"But if I don't turn no more?" Daryl asked.

"You will," Hershel said. He sucked in a breath. "Daryl—you remember how much faith you had that Carol would marry you?"

Daryl hummed and nodded his head.

"Yeah. Of course," Daryl responded.

"And how'd that work out for you?" Hershel asked.

"We married," Daryl said. "Happy."

"Have that kind of faith in yourself, Daryl," Hershel said. "Have that kind of faith in your ability to build the future that you had in mind when you first came to talk to me."

"It's a whole lot harder to have faith in somethin' that nature can take away from me," Daryl said.

Hershel laughed to himself.

"Nature can take _anything_ away from us," Hershel said. "At any time. Still—even if you don't have that much faith. Can you have a little? Because I've got faith in you. And I know—it may take a while? But you're gonna turn that farm into something you can be proud of, Daryl. Something your _children_ can be proud of."

Daryl felt a warm rush in his belly. He swallowed and nodded his head.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah. I guess I can have some faith. I guess I got some. Even if it ain't quite as much as I had before—about Carol an' all."

Hershel laughed to himself.

"Well, they say that all it takes is the faith of a mustard seed," Hershel said. "So you oughta have just about enough."

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Daryl was a little worried that they surely weren't going to make it home by supper when the light was starting to grow dim and they were still looking at horses. Hershel had already picked out, paying with the money that he'd gotten from the wheat, four good horses for his farm.

Daryl had one sorrel that he'd picked out, but he wasn't sure what else he should take, so Hershel was doing his best to help him out. The man that was helping them—who went by the name of Eaton, which Daryl assumed to be his surname—was more than eager to show them anything that they might be looking at.

"That sorrel gelding is nice," Hershel said. "But this young man's gonna need another. Good for work but also good for riding."

"If you can put your hand on it," Eaton offered, "it's good for both. Guaranteed by my name. Everything not in that field over there is broke damn near good enough for someone still green."

Hershel nodded his head.

"Good mount for a lady," Hershel said. "That's what we're lookin' for. You hear? Good mount for a lady to handle. Smooth ride. Calm under the saddle. Doesn't spook."

Eaton nodded his head and scratched at the back of his neck. He'd been digging there long enough that Daryl figured the man had fleas. He'd gotten fleas really bad once and he knew that they could make you itch something miserable. Eaton looked, though, like he'd come to terms with the suffering they were causing him.

"I got one," Eaton said. "Mare, though. You lookin' for a mare? Or you just want geldings?"

"Don't matter," Daryl said.

"Mare," Hershel said. "And—we're gonna want a stallion too."

He turned his head quickly and Daryl caught the wink he got from him.

"Don't got no broke stallions right now," Eaton said, shaking his head. "Got some started. Lead broke, but they ain't saddle ready by no means."

"That's alright," Hershel said. "I'll take the stallion. I got someone looking for a mount of his own. He oughta earn him by breaking him. But let's see that mare you got in mind."

Eaton disappeared and Daryl started to argue with Hershel about the stallion, but he stopped himself. Along with cattle, Hershel tried his hand a little at breeding horses. He usually got two or three foals a year out of his horses. He sold them sometimes, but others he simply traded here and there for jobs that he needed done by hands that he knew needed mounts. If Daryl were to cover his mare with the stallion—or Carol's mare with the stallion—then it would simply be an extra job that the horse had to do to earn his feed.

When Eaton returned, he was leading a paint.

"This here paint's a good mare," Eaton assured them, bringing the mare closer to them for inspection. "Would keep her myself, but I don't need no more stock right now."

Hershel walked over and inspected the horse before he waved Daryl over to look over the animal. Daryl checked her from one end to the other and hummed his satisfaction over the horse.

"Don't know how she rides," Daryl said. "But she looks good."

"Eaton here's an honest man," Hershel said. "If he says she rides good? She rides good." He directed his attention, then, to the man that was standing and holding the rope halter to the mare. "We'll take her. Paint stallion, too, if you got one. With the rest of 'em. We'll split them when we're home."

"You gonna ride one or lead 'em all?" Eaton asked.

"They'll follow well enough tied to the wagon," Hershel said. "Until we get where we're going."

Daryl paid the man for his two mounts, leaving Hershel to make up the difference on the stallion, and then he stood by to watch as Eaton tied all the horses so that they would follow along behind the wagon. Leading them all back would require a little attention, but Daryl had seen it done before, so he had no doubt they'd make it.

When the business was done and hands had been shook, Daryl got back in his place beside Hershel on the wagon and he sat quietly for the first length of the journey. Too quietly, maybe, because Hershel—who kept looking over at Daryl—finally broke the silence between them.

"You had a problem with the horses?" Hershel asked.

Daryl hummed at him and the old man repeated the question once more.

"No," Daryl said. "I ain't got no problem with 'em. They'll be good, I reckon."

"Then what's troubling you, son?" Hershel asked.

"Ain't gonna make it home by supper," Daryl offered. "Told Carol we was gonna be home by supper."

Hershel laughed to himself.

"You think she's gonna be mad about that?" Hershel asked. He hummed at Daryl. "On days you go to sell what you got and make purchases you need—it's best that she don't have too much expectation."

Daryl hummed in half-hearted agreement.

"But I didn't know that," Daryl said. "And she don't neither. So I told her to expect me home for supper. And now I ain't gonna be there."

"You don't suppose it'll soothe things over that you're bringing her some things?" Hershel asked.

"I don't think she's gonna be too pissy about it," Daryl offered. "Just—that I told her I was gonna be home."

"First harvest," Hershel said. "For the both of you. She'll learn. Same as you."

Daryl hummed in response, not really feeling too much like he agreed with the sentiment at the moment.

"I reckon," he offered, hoping to make it sound like he wasn't too pissy, himself, about how long the whole excursion had taken.

Hershel guarded silence between them for a little while, but then he spoke to Daryl again.

"How's Carol workin' out for you, Daryl?" Hershel asked. "Everything you wanted her to be? Married life—it's everything you wanted it to be?"

Daryl was a little struck by the question.

"Of course she's what I wanted her to be," Daryl responded. "She's my wife."

Hershel laughed, apparently finding Daryl's response to his question amusing.

"I know she's your wife, Daryl," Hershel responded. "I married you myself. I meant—is having a wife what you thought it would be?"

Daryl shrugged his shoulders, even though Hershel wasn't looking at him and, more than likely, wouldn't be able to see him with the failing light.

"I didn't have no big ideas," Daryl said. "Not about what it would be. But—she's everything I thought she would be."

"So she's a good wife, Daryl?" Hershel asked. His tone of voice suggested that, maybe, he was as surprised by this possibility as Merle was every time he had to come by the farm for something and rediscovered that Carol was there, acting just like a wife should act and doing the things that a wife should do.

"She's the best kinda wife," Daryl responded. Hershel laughed again. "Best I could have," Daryl corrected, worrying that Hershel's laughter meant that he'd said something wrong.

"And are you a good husband?" Hershel asked.

Daryl was even more struck by that question. Even though it was one that he'd asked himself several times—and one that he'd asked Carol more than once—he had never been asked that by anyone else. Everyone else seemed to have their concerns about Carol's ability to be a good wife, but nobody ever seemed to turn it around on Daryl and question his abilities.

Daryl hummed at Hershel in response.

"Best kinda husband I can be," Daryl said. "She says I am. When I ask her."

"Then it must be so," Hershel mused. "Or she wouldn't say it."

"Do what I can for her," Daryl said. "Give her what I can. And I don't hit her. Not never."

"Good rule of thumb to live by," Hershel said. "Though surely not every man can say that, Daryl."

"Never wanted to," Daryl said. "Never thought about it. Ain't like—it's no big effort on my part."

"Are you happy, Daryl?" Hershel asked.

"Happiest I ever been," Daryl said.

"And is Carol happy?" Hershel asked.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't never see her cryin' none," Daryl said. "'Cept..."

"Except?" Hershel asked.

"Well..." Daryl said. "A couple of her lil' chicks didn't make it. Just up an' died in the coop overnight. She was cryin' over them chickens somethin' desperate for a while."

Hershel sighed deeply.

"Those are the kinda things that can make women cry," Hershel said. "But you didn't kill her chicks, did you?"

"The hell would I do that for?" Daryl asked. "Them chickens was gonna grow for us."

"Then it doesn't make you a bad husband," Hershel said. "And chicks we've got a-plenty. Take her three or four more tomorrow when you come to the farm to get what you need. To get what you got here that I'll keep for the night."

Daryl offered a thanks for the chickens and Hershel waved it away with a sweep of his hand.

"It's you doing me the favor," Hershel said. "Miss Jo always hatches more than she needs. And even when we get overrun with the chickens, she just doesn't have the heart to sell them. Eat them, she can do, because that's what she figures the good Lord intended them for. But she doesn't have the heart to sell them. She'll be pleased to know they're going to a good home." He laughed to himself. "The kinda home where a woman cries when her chicks don't make it overnight."

Daryl hummed and nodded his head. Chickens, he knew, could be real serious business. After all, between the food they brought and the promise of more to come, they were some of the most productive animals on the farm.

"Carol'll be pleased with the chicks," Daryl said. "She's gonna like that mare, too."

"Pleased enough to give you a pass for missing supper?" Hershel asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I reckon she might let it slide," Daryl said. "Since it was the first time and all."

"If a half-dozen chicks can buy peace in a marriage," Hershel offered with a chuckle, "then it's well-worth it to me."


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here. Much more to come.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl left everything he bought at Hershel's farm except for the horses. He figured it would be easier to unload everything with the light of the morning in his favor. He stopped only long enough at Hershel's to borrow the tack that the old man had offered him to tack out both of the horses that he'd bought. Riding the sorrel and leading the paint, Daryl headed for home.

The ride between the two farms was relatively short. Aware of how late he was, though, Daryl felt like the trip was especially long this time. As the house came into view, Daryl could see the light from the lamps through the windows. He steered the horses directly toward the barn and immediately lit a lamp for himself inside the barn so he could untack them and load them into the stalls. He'd prepared for their arrival and stocked feed, so he brushed them down quickly—promising them a better brushing in the morning—and finally gave them food to welcome them home and pay them back for the travel that they'd done that day.

"Daryl?" He heard behind him. Daryl jumped, surprised to hear something while he was working, and turned to find Carol standing there with one of the small lamps that she carried around any time she went to the outhouse in the middle of the night.

"What'cha doin' out here?" Daryl asked. "Go back in. I ain't gonna be long."

"You're late," Carol said. "I thought—something might've happened."

"Nothin' happened except everything took about ten damn times as long as I thought it would," Daryl said. "Been tryin' to get home all day, but every time I figured we was done? There was another stop we had to make an' another damn soul we had to deal with."

Carol frowned deeply at him and Daryl wondered if his tone was too harsh. He wasn't mad at her. He wasn't even sure if he was mad at all or—if he was— _why_ he was mad. The closest he could figure was that he was a little mad about the fact that he'd expected to have his supper some time ago and he'd expected to maybe be in bed by now.

And he _hadn't_ expected to make Carol worry.

"You shouldn't be out here," Daryl said, consciously softening his tone. "But as long as you is...this here's your horse."

Daryl waved Carol over and she came. She looked at the mare that was busy chewing her food and reached a hand out to brush it across the horse's nose. The mare jerked away from her at first, but then returned her face and accepted her affections.

"What's her name?" Carol asked.

"Whatever the hell you want it to be," Daryl said. "Fair horse. Broke. She oughta be good for work an' the man what sold her to me swears she'll be a good mount for you. If you got a mind to ride somewhere, I mean. Maybe for—goin' back an' forth to the Greene farm."

Carol smiled at the horse and then she looked at Daryl and offered him the smile.

"She's beautiful," Carol said.

"Glad you like her," Daryl said. "Got this gelding too. Good ride over here on him. He don't got a name neither. So if you keen on namin' things, reckon you can pick something out for the both of them."

Carol laughed at him.

"You don't want to name the horses?" Carol asked.

Daryl shrugged.

"If it was up to me? We'd be callin' 'em Paint an' Sorrell," Daryl responded. "I don't care too much about names. They never seem all that important."

"Paint and Sorrell would be just as good as anything else," Carol said. "But proper names might be nice, too. I don't have to name them tonight, do I?"

"You don't gotta name 'em never," Daryl said. "Not if you don't want to. What you doin' out here, anyway? This late? You do better to stay in the house as much as possible. Don't wanna be wanderin' around in the dark. Could be damn near anything out here."

"I heard you ride up," Carol said. "I heard the horses. I didn't know if it was you or...maybe Merle. I was worried that it wasn't you."

"All the damn more reason to stay your ass inside," Daryl said. "You didn't know who the hell was out here an' your solution was to come out? What if somethin' had happened to you?"

"That's why I came out!" Carol declared. "I was worried that something had happened to _you_. I was worried that Merle was going to come and tell me that something was wrong."

"But if it weren't me? Out here in the barn?" Daryl asked. "You come out here just puttin' yourself in a bad situation."

"Because I was worried about you!" Carol said. Her voice went up and her frustration was clear to Daryl. He swallowed and shook his head at her.

"But it ain't me I'm worried about," Daryl said. "I ain't worried about me. I know I'm fine. It's you I'm worried about—out here when you don't even know who you heard ridin' up in the first place."

Carol put her hand on her hip and then she dropped it with a sigh.

"I'm sorry," Carol said. "But I've been expecting you since the sun went down. I made your supper. I kept it warm as long as I could. Come in when it started to get too dark to stay outside waiting. What was I supposed to think?"

"You were supposed to think I was runnin' late," Daryl said. "You were supposed to think it was safer for you to stay inside."

Daryl felt the impact of Carol's facial expression in his chest. He swallowed down the ache.

Carol was always scared that he was going to simply up and disappear. She seemed to fear that he'd vanish into thin air. As a result, in between tasks that she did here and there, she would come out to wherever he was working to check on him. She'd bring him water. Maybe she'd bring him a leftover biscuit and some of the cold meat that she kept in a bowl on the table—always the leftovers from the last meal that they'd eaten—but Daryl had long since figured out that it was just something she was doing to have a reason to check in on him. The real reason for her random visits was to make sure that Daryl was _there_.

And whenever he went anywhere without her? Even if it was just as far as the Greene farm? She was always thrilled to see him come back as though she were genuinely surprised to see that he'd chosen to return home.

Daryl shook his head at her.

"I ain't leavin' you," Daryl said. "I'm always comin' right back here. But sometimes, like tonight, I'ma get caught up in things. Things are gonna take longer'n I thought they would. It's gonna take me longer'n I thought it would to get back. But—I'm comin' back. I promised you that. And I meant it."

Carol's expression didn't change entirely, so Daryl held his arms out to her. Like he expected, she came into his arms and wrapped her own tightly around his body. He felt the metal of the lamp handle that she was holding pressing into his back as she tried to manage holding them both at the same time. She buried her face in his chest and Daryl patted her back as he held her.

"I know you're coming back," Carol said. "If you can? I know you're coming back. I just got scared that—something would stop you."

Daryl hummed at her.

"Didn't nothin' stop me," Daryl said. He laughed to himself. "Hell—I don't know too much that _can_ stop me. Not if I got a mind to stop it first."

Carol pulled away from him. Her eyes were red, but she wasn't actively crying.

"You can't always control it," Carol said.

"For now I can," Daryl said. "Come on. Let's get inside. It's late and I'm damn near starvin'."

Carol's frown, temporarily faded, renewed itself.

"Your supper's cold," Carol said. "I couldn't keep it warm any longer. It's probably no good."

Daryl smiled at her.

"You make it?" He asked.

She nodded her head.

"You know I did," Carol responded.

"What'cha make?" Daryl asked.

"Rabbit," Carol said. "Potatoes. Some beans that I got from Miss Jo."

"Biscuits?" Daryl asked.

"Always," Carol said with a sigh. "But they're cold too."

"Sounds just about the way I like it," Daryl said. "Come on, Carol. Let's go inside. Eat that cold supper."

Daryl blew out the lamp that he would leave in the barn and followed Carol out as she carried hers to light their path. He stopped to secure the barn doors and she stood by and held her light out to him to illuminate everything he might need to see. Daryl put a hand on her back to walk with her toward the house and opened the door for her when they got there.

The little house was every bit as clean and organized as it ever was. Carol had spent her day doing all her normal chores and, maybe, she'd even done a few more to keep her concerned mind busy. Supper was laid out on the table, as it always was, and Daryl quickly sat down to it while Carol went about her usual shuffling around of offering him biscuits and pouring fresh water into cups for the both of them. Daryl didn't start eating until Carol finally sat and prepared to tuck into the food that she'd served onto her own plate. Daryl handed her over a couple of the biscuits out of the bowl she'd put down, without her asking for them, and he made something of a show of smelling the food that he'd been served probably hours before.

"Smells damn near like heaven," Daryl said.

"You don't have to say that," Carol said, still looking sullen over the fact that the meal was cold and not up to her self-set standards.

"Don't gotta say nothin'," Daryl said. "But that don't mean I can't. Food smells good. Ever' bit as good as I coulda asked for it to smell."

"It's cold," Carol said. "It isn't right to serve you a cold supper. You haven't had a proper meal all day."

Daryl laughed to himself and started eating. The food tasted every bit as good as it smelled. It was delicious. And given how hungry Daryl felt, it seemed every bit as amazing as the food that Carol usually put in front of him.

"If this ain't a proper meal," Daryl said. "Then I don't know that I ever tasted one."

"You think other husbands sit down to cold food?" Carol asked, still feeling sorry over her own plate.

Daryl wasn't sure what to do because she seemed to be feeling sorry because she figured that he was going to be somehow bothered by the meal. That wasn't the case at all, though, and he didn't know how to get her to understand that he was happy with what he had. He was happy with every single element of the evening—other than her wandering down to the barn in the dark, alone, of course.

"I figure they gotta," Daryl said. "Especially if they said they'd be home at a reasonable hour for food but then they ain't showed up 'til way on after the sun went down. They ain't no way around that." Daryl sighed and sat back from the table, abandoning his food for a moment. "I don't want you sitting there sulking in your food all night, Carol. It's a fine meal. Good as any was ever put in front of nobody. I was late—and I'm sorry for that. But I didn't know what all we had to do today. I didn't know it was gonna take all day."

Carol looked at him like she was surprised. Her mouth formed something of a soft "o" as she considered what she might say to him. She shook her head at him, finally.

"I'm not cross that you were out late," Carol said. "Please don't think I am. I know you were doing what you had to be doing for the farm. For _us_. I can't be cross about you doing what you have to do."

"But you so damn sorry about the food that it's makin' my gut turn wrong-side out," Daryl said. "I don't think you mad at me, Carol, but I don't want you bein' mad at _you_ neither!"

"A good wife would've had you a hot meal," Carol said.

Daryl shook his head at her.

"A good wife woulda had me a hot meal at the hour that I was s'posed to be here," Daryl said. "And you did, didn't you?" Carol nodded her head. "And a good wife woulda served me what she had when I got home to eat it. And you did, didn't you?" Carol nodded her head. "Then that's the best kinda way a wife could be by my reckoning," Daryl insisted, picking up his fork again. He shook his head at her once more and pointed at her with the end of his fork. "Ain't gonna listen to it no more. Meal's good. Cold sets in the flavor. Why I like what's left over for breakfast so damn much in the mornin'. Eat, Carol. It's way on late and I'm tired. Know you must be too."

Carol picked up her own fork and started eating, finally. She didn't eat with the same enthusiasm that she usually employed at supper, but she ate fine. At the very least, she stopped apologizing for the temperature of the food.

"Sold everything I took to sell," Daryl said. Carol nodded her head. "Got good prices for it all. We ain't rich, but we got enough to plant again. Get some cattle. Bought them horses. Miss Jo's givin' you a few more chicks and—I got you a couple things that I'ma bring over in the mornin' from the Greene farm."

"You take care of me, Daryl. Better than I could ever expect," Carol said softly as her only response. She wasn't much into talking business with Daryl. She'd listen to him, for however long he might want to talk about things, but she never said much of anything one way or another. She seemed content to let Daryl handle everything. She just handled all the daily things that a wife was supposed to handle.

She handled all the things that Daryl felt like he _needed_ to keep him going. She handled everything that made it all worthwhile.

Even if the supper was cold, it was supper that his wife had made him. And it would keep his belly from aching while he slept, just as it should. And he would sleep, as he already knew, better than any man even had a right to sleep. Carol would see to that.

Daryl reached his hand over and gently brushed the backs of his fingers against Carol's cheek. She jerked away from him—clearly surprised by the touch and caught up in her thoughts—but then she leaned into his fingers as something of an apology for pulling away in the first place. Daryl smiled at her when she rolled her eyes in his direction.

"You take care of me, too, Carol," Daryl assured her with a nod of his head. "Better'n I could ever expect."


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **This story spans some time, so there are sort of "snapshot" chapters between parts that will show you a little of the character development. This is one of those chapters. It's another peak into their life as we go setting up the next little bit.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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The winter wheat went into the ground when autumn dropped around the small farm. The tiny herd of cattle grazed and Daryl filled his days with jobs that would prepare their small home to withstand the snow and ice of the hard winter that was to come. Carol prepared their home for the coming weather and worked with Miss Jo to prepare and store food to sustain them and to prepare clothing to keep them from freezing to death once the cold settled in.

Daryl seemed pleased, when the first icy winds blew and the first snow fell around them, to find that their house was warmer than anticipated. The work he'd done with care paid off and the walls around them protected them from the cold.

Carol kept the fire burning at all times and Daryl kept the wood piled high for her so that, no matter how many of the sticks she took from the stack at any given time, she never had to worry that they would run out.

Every evening, just before their supper was ready, Carol bundled up as much as Daryl did and she went with him to feed the livestock so that, bellies full, the animals would stand the additional cold of the night better. Then, inside their small home, she would serve their food and warm their bath water over the flames in their small fireplace. And every night they would take refuge, under the blankets, huddled together to protect each other from the cold.

They'd wake the same way, sharing their body heat, each morning to face the day to come.

It was well after dark, one night, when Carol heard the cows bellowing. The distance from the field made the sound low and muffled. Daryl, asleep next to her, was unaware of the noise and for a moment, Carol thought she might be imagining it. She thought the sound might simply be something that her brain—trapped in the land between sleep and waking—was producing for her. It was part of her waking knowledge and, therefore, was becoming part of her dreams.

Another sound, though, caught her attention. The carrying snort of horses. A whinny that was closer than it should have been. A whinny that couldn't be heard from the barn.

Carol got out of bed and quickly wrapped her coat around her. Without bothering with her boots, she stumbled to the door and opened it. She was greeted with an icy blast of cold air, but still she stuck her head out the door of the cabin.

Trips back and forth to the outhouse had taught her the sounds of night. She knew them well. The nights on their farm were still and quiet. Carol had learned each and every greeting of their nocturnal animal friends and she knew well the calm and comfortable sounds of their own animals when they were stirring about.

What Carol heard were noises that were unfamiliar. They were unwelcome. They were the sounds of boots crunching on the icy ground and of horses shifting their weight.

 _They were the sounds of the cattle bellowing in the fields. The sounds of cattle disturbed by an unwelcome invader._

Carol closed the door quickly to keep her own voice from travelling outside.

"Daryl! Daryl!" She called. "Get up! Someone's out there. Someone's bothering the cows! Daryl!" Daryl hit his feet before Carol knew for sure that he was even awake. He was in the process of dressing when he mumbled to Carol to repeat herself and remind him what he was responding to. "Someone's outside," Carol repeated. "I hear the cows. Someone's out there. Horses. The cows are hollerin'."

"Fuck!" Daryl spat.

He was in his boots and had the gun from beside the door before he barely even got the one syllable word out of his mouth. He ripped the door open and started out. Carol quickly stepped into her own boots and, having no other way to help him should he need it, grabbed one of the large knives that she had before she followed him out into the dark night.

"Who the hell is out here?!" Daryl called, stumbling through the yard ahead of Carol.

Whoever had come had left their horses untied and Daryl's loud voice spooked one of the animals. It charged by Carol at a full run and she stepped quickly back to avoid be trampled by the creature. Immediately she picked up her steps again and followed after Daryl toward the fields where their small herd was held.

She heard other voices pick up—unknown voices belonging to strange men—as they yelled back and forth to each other in some frantic communications over what they should do.

"Get on outta here!" Daryl yelled at them. "This here's private damn property an' them are my fuckin' cows!"

The bandits—because that's what Carol considered them to be, even if she couldn't see them—had clearly not intended to get caught. There was some scrambling and Carol slipped to the side and opened the barn in search of a lantern that she might use to shed some light on the situation for Daryl. She expected to find the barn empty, everyone in the field attempting to steal the cattle, but was surprised to find that there was a man inside that was trying to get a rope around Nugget—Daryl's sorrel horse—that Nugget didn't seem inclined to wear. Carol could only see the outline of the man, but she could easily enough tell where he was and what he was doing.

"Back away from that horse!" Carol spat at him.

The man stopped what he was doing, but he didn't respond. Nugget continued his frenzied knocking about in the stall until Carol worried that he would hurt himself or break down the door.

Outside, there was some yelling and a shot cracked through the silence. Carol jumped with the sound, but she didn't move.

The man laughed at her.

"Like to know what the hell a cunt like you aims to do about it," the man a few steps in front of her spat at her.

"Kill you," Carol said, aware that her own voice shook slightly. "If it's what I gotta do."

He laughed again and Carol swallowed. She sucked in a breath and remembered something that Andrea had told her once. She should never make a threat to a man that she didn't fully intend to go through with. Andrea told her they could smell fear and they could sense bluffing. She shouldn't make a threat that she didn't intend to keep.

But if someone took off with their horses—if they took off with their cattle—they could leave them without the means to keep going.

If the shots that rang out outside—more of them breaking through the silence of the freezing night—were intended for Daryl, they could take him from her.

And that would mean more to Carol than if they took her own life from her.

"Step away from the horse," Carol said, tightening her hold on the knife in her hand. "Or so help me...I'm going to kill you."

The man laughed again, but he did step away from the horse. He stepped toward Carol, instead, and she held her breath.

Outside she heard the sound of another shot. She heard the sound of hooves pounding on the snow that—iced over and harder than it had been after it fell—crunched loudly.

"Your friends are leaving," Carol said. "You go with 'em—or you don't."

The man rushed toward Carol and Carol reacted. As he reached her, he turned to go around her and leave her standing in the barn, but she'd already committed to her action. Her knife made contact with him and he howled in response to the bite of the blade. His hand came out, making contact with her face, but then he seized the opportunity to escape and ran from the barn.

In shock, Carol stood there holding the knife in her hand. She could feel the slippery wetness running down from the blade. It was proof of what she had done. It was proof of what she was capable of doing if she had to do it.

Having done it, though, she couldn't find the strength in her knees to move again or enough breath in her chest to call out for Daryl. She hadn't killed the man, but she _could have_ killed him. It was his choice—to try to sidestep her and avoid her entirely—that had kept her from running the blade clear into his gut. It was his choice to avoid her that had saved him from the death that she was willing to deliver to him.

 _But she had to protect her home as much as Daryl did. She had to protect her life._

Carol was still shaking when Daryl found her. He was already carrying a lantern—the very thing she'd come into the barn to get—and that meant that the trouble outside was done. One way or another, it was done. Carol jumped when he wrapped his arms around her from behind, leaving the lantern on the ground to illuminate the space around them, but he slipped a hand down and wrapped it around her wrist to control the knife and to keep her from injuring him in her shock.

"Shhhh..." he hissed quietly in her ear. "Easy. It's me. Only me. You shouldn'ta been out here. Ain't nobody hurt'cha did they? Carol?"

Carol closed her eyes and listened to his voice. She listened to the soft sound of his words as he repeated them over and over. His reassurance was almost like a lullaby to her. It was the quiet promise that he was there. He was still there. And so was she.

"You're OK?" Carol asked.

"Fine," Daryl assured her. "Assholes shot at me, but they can't aim in the damn dark. Didn't have to fire my own damn gun even once because one of the assholes shot one of the other ones." He laughed quietly. "Shot his own damn partner."

Carol swallowed, only just realizing that she was fighting sobbing.

"You're OK?" She repeated.

Daryl turned her body and finally pulled the knife out of her hand. He tossed it on the ground to the side of them and pulled Carol into him. She felt the pull of him tangling his fingers in her hair—yanking gently at her curls—and she buried her face in his chest. He shushed her again.

"Don't cry out here," Daryl said. "Your tears'll freeze right to your face. I ain't even scratched. But you ain't said—if you OK."

"I don't know if I killed him," Carol said.

"You ain't killed nobody," Daryl assured her. "Seen somebody light outta here like his ass was on fire. But he weren't no ghost. Just as damn solid as you an' me is."

"I coulda killed him," Carol said, rubbing her face against Daryl.

"You shouldn'ta been out here," Daryl said, his tone of voice not matching the reprimand at all. "What the hell was you doin' out here any damn way?"

"Helping you," Carol said. "Helping you. Getting a lamp so you could see. I thought—I could get a lamp in here. He was in here. I coulda killed him."

"You coulda killed him," Daryl said. "But he coulda killed your ass too. And that's what the hell scares the shit outta me, Carol. Hell—if you'da killed him, it ain't no skin off my teeth. Yours neither. Nobody would be lookin' for some no good horse thief. We'da fed him to the damn pigs and never spoke of that shit again. But if he'da killed you?" Daryl sighed when Carol shivered. "Don't matter. He's gone now and—no harm done. Come on—let's go inside. Get warmed up."

"The cows?" Carol asked quietly as Daryl collected her knife off the ground and wiped it on the hay. She could see that there were some droplets of blood that the man had left behind—a trail that proved he'd even been there.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Not even spooked," Daryl said. "Better'n you an' me both."

Daryl gathered up the lantern and pushed Carol gently toward the door of the barn. He guided her out and she took the lantern from him and held it up while he closed the barn and checked the security of the door. He reached for the lantern and Carol pulled it back from him.

"I can help," Carol said. "I'm not helpless. I'm not."

Daryl hummed at her.

"That you ain't," Daryl said. "You sure ain't. Come on. Let's get inside. You ain't even got nothin' on your legs. Gonna freeze to death out here."

He put his hand on Carol's back and pushed her back toward the cabin. She walked along without putting up any sort of a struggle.

"Are you mad, Daryl?" Carol asked.

"Yeah," Daryl said. "I guess I am."

"About me stabbing the man?" Carol asked.

"No," Daryl said. "About you puttin' yourself in a situation where you coulda got killed. Where I coulda lost you."

"He could've taken Nugget," Carol said.

"And I coulda bought another horse," Daryl said.

Carol's stomach twisted with her own thoughts, but she gave voice to them at any rate.

"You could get another wife, too, Daryl," Carol pointed out. "Whores aren't that hard to come by and...most of them would be happy to be made a wife."

Daryl stopped her by pulling back on her shoulder. She almost lost her balance on the slippery ground with the abrupt stopping of her forward movement, but Daryl caught her. He turned her around to face him. Even with the limited light provided by his lantern, she could see the stern expression on his face.

"Don't'cha never say no damn thing like that again," Daryl said. "Ain't gonna stand for it. I got one wife. Only one I'm ever gonna have. And—you that wife. That's all the hell there is to it. And a good damn wife? She don't go runnin' out the door when she oughta stay inside."

"I was helping you," Carol said. "A good wife helps her husband."

"And you'da done me a lot worse if I'da knowed what you was doin'!" Daryl barked. "Don't you realize that? If I'da knowed you was out there? I'da got my own ass killed because I couldn'ta paid attention to what the hell they was doing because I'da been too damn worried about you." He backed up a little from Carol and some of his frustration seemed to fade. "Don't you see nothing? Don't ask your ass to stay inside for you. Ask you to stay inside for _me_."

Carol's stomach twisted again. She nodded her head at Daryl.

"Fine," she said. "I understand. You want me to stay inside because—you want me to be safe."

"Want you to stay inside because I love you," Daryl said.

Carol swallowed and nodded her head.

"I understand," Carol said. "But—don't you understand anything, Daryl? I wanted to come outside because you might need my help. You might—need me to do something. I mighta been able to help you somehow. I wanted to come outside because—I love you too." Carol sucked in a breath and held it. She watched Daryl watching her. "Every bit as much as you love me, Daryl." She added.

Daryl frowned at her, but she wasn't entirely sure it was her words that brought about the expression. He pointed toward their house.

"Get inside," Daryl said. "Before your legs freeze off."

Carol nodded and turned. She headed quickly toward the house with Daryl right behind her. Inside, he set about lighting the lamps. He'd already returned the gun to its place and he put the knife on the table to be washed. Before Carol could even ask him what he was doing, Daryl filled the bowl on the dresser and wet a rag in it. He turned around and walked back to her. Taking her face in his hand, he dabbed at the side of her lip with the rag.

"Didn't tell me out there that the asshole got'cha," Daryl said softly.

Carol had forgotten that the man had even managed to touch her. She hadn't realized that he might have left any noticeable evidence behind of the slap he gave her for stabbing him.

"It's nothing," Carol said.

"It's bleeding is what the hell it is," Daryl said.

Carol shook her head gently at Daryl.

"It's nothing," she repeated. "Daryl? It don't even hurt."

"And everybody what sees it is gonna figure I knocked you a good one," Daryl said.

"You wouldn't," Carol responded.

Daryl sucked his teeth.

"Yeah but they don't know that," he responded.

"Then we tell them," Carol said. "Nobody sees me but Miss Jo. Hershel Greene. Merle."

"Merle's gonna kick my damn ass," Daryl said.

"For something you didn't do?" Carol responded. "He wouldn't."

"For lettin' you run around when you had no business bein' out there," Daryl said. "He oughta."

Carol caught Daryl's hand this time and held it. She rubbed her thumb over his skin. It was rough and chapped from the cold. Daryl didn't have gloves and it was one thing he needed. It was one thing that she didn't have to offer him, though she'd learned to make a good deal of clothing already. Carol pulled his hand to her lips and she kissed it, watching his face even as she did so. He struggled to swallow.

He wasn't mad. Carol had seen mad before. The expression on Daryl's face was something else entirely—and it was something he was having a harder time admitting to than simple anger.

 _Daryl was scared._

And Carol didn't believe, not even for a minute, that it was Merle that Daryl was scared of. It wasn't Merle or Hershel or Miss Jo. It wasn't anything that anyone might say to him or do to him.

Daryl was scared of what had already happened. He was scared of what might have been. Daryl was terrified of a few drops of blood that barely stained the rag in his hand because it was Carol's blood.

And Carol had never been loved like that before. She'd never even felt she'd deserved love like that before. She wasn't sure she deserved it now. But, deserving it or not, she had it now.

"We'll tell them the truth," Carol said. "And nobody will say a thing, Daryl. I went out there to help you. And I'd do it again. You need me to help you, Daryl, and I'm sure—I'm sure that if you ask Hershel? If you asked him what a good wife is supposed to do? I'm sure that somewhere it says that a good wife is supposed to help her husband, Daryl. You can't do everything alone. You don't have to. That's what I'm here for." Daryl opened his mouth to protest and Carol shook her head quickly at him to keep him from speaking. "But," she said, interrupting him before he could even begin, "but—if you want me to stay inside? If there's somebody out there? And you're wantin' me to stay inside? I'll do that. I'll stay inside. Just like you want me to."

Daryl sucked in a breath and let it out with a sigh that made his shoulders drop with some release of tension.

"That's what I want," Daryl said. "I want'cha to stay inside. Stay safe."

Carol smiled at him and nodded her head gently.

"Then that's what I'll do," she said. "Up until—I can't. Because if I gotta go outside? If you need me? Daryl—you didn't build a door that's fit to hold me back."

Carol could see some frustration cross his features and she smiled at him. He stared at her, trying his best to hold onto what little bit of anger he was mining out of his fear, but he couldn't keep a good hold on it. It gave way and a smile broke through.

"You're a hardheaded woman," Daryl said, shaking his head.

Carol swallowed, worried for a second that he might hold such a thing against her.

"Been told that before," Carol said. "Like it weren't a good thing." She raised her eyebrows at him. "Like hardheaded women don't make good wives."

"Best wife I got," Daryl said. He smirked at her. "But the damned hardheadedest one too."

Carol laughed quietly.

"My husband sure don't have the softest head in the world," Carol said. "But—his heart's just about right. Go back to bed, Daryl?"

Daryl shook his head at her.

"You go on," Daryl said. "Put another stick or two of wood on the fire. I'ma stay up just a lil' bit. Keep an ear out to make sure they don't come back. Don't figure they will. Gotta get somewhere and patch up their friends. One of 'em's shot and the other's stabbed. Figure they don't come back here for a good long time if they ever come back at all."

"Come to bed then," Carol insisted. "Warm up."

"Don't feel like I can sleep," Daryl said. "Wound too tight. Just gonna stay up a bit. Keep an ear out."

Carol smiled at him and reached a hand up to touch his face. Then she took the rag from his hand—the one he was still holding—and tugged his hand.

"Come to bed," Carol said. "Warm up. We'll save the sleepin' for in a little bit. See if—we can't unwind things a little."


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Winter was long and hard, but somehow they survived it. And, somehow, their livestock survived as well. They lost nothing more than one cow and a few chickens—a relatively small loss given what the ice and snow could have taken from them.

The spring eventually came. Slowly the world showed signs of waking up and coming back to life. With the final frost, the planting began again. And Daryl's work—which never seemed to slow even with the deep freeze of winter—seemed to double once more.

They were still getting started. Their farm, by any stretch of imagination, was still in its infancy. The money they had to survive on was money from their first harvest and some small amount leftover from what Daryl had earned and saved before. Their first harvest, as Carol heard it from Daryl, was a spring harvest. Therefore, the money they got from it really wasn't as impressive as what they could hope for in the future. Perhaps that was the greatest comfort, because Daryl was worried about the money.

His worry, really, was the greatest change that Carol saw in her own life. Daryl worried about the money. He worried that it wouldn't stretch until the harvest. He worried that it wouldn't buy the things that they needed to live until the harvest. And he was a proud man—though probably no prouder than any other man who tried to make an honest living—and he already felt so deep in debt that he couldn't even imagine asking the Greene's for further support. He felt that he and Carol already owed them—which they probably did—and he didn't want to lower himself to ask them for more when they'd already given so much.

So Daryl couldn't hire help.

He could ask Merle for help, but Merle had to work to earn his own living. He couldn't give away much of his time for free. Without help and without extra hands, all the work fell on Daryl. All the strain and stress of the farm fell on his shoulders. The planting, the cattle, the fences, the dreams of a house he promised to one day build for them—it all fell on Daryl's shoulders.

Until the day that Carol decided that it wasn't her husband's place to carry the weight of their farm.

Carol fed Daryl breakfast, as she always did, and she cleaned up afterwards while he went out to start on the work that would keep him occupied until sun down. As soon as breakfast was cleaned up, Carol rushed through her other chores as quickly as she could possibly do them and still be sure that she was doing them well. As soon as she found herself free for a moment, she rushed down to the field where Daryl was working and grabbed a bucket of the seed that he was working with. Immediately, she copied his action and started spreading the seed.

She'd worked about ten minutes before he even noticed her.

"The hell you doin'?" Daryl called at her when he did notice her working.

"Planting," Carol said. She lowered her bucket to the ground. "Am I not doing it right, Daryl?"

"You doin' fine," Daryl said. "But it ain't your work."

"Just as much mine as it is yours," Carol insisted, picking her bucket back up again.

"Workin' the fields is a man's work," Daryl said.

"Same as working with the cattle?" Carol asked.

Daryl nodded his head at her.

"Just the same," he said.

"And what's a woman's work?" Carol asked.

Daryl chewed at his lip and finally shrugged his shoulders.

"Reckon you'd know that better'n I would," Daryl said. "You a woman. So it's you who knows what'cha gotta do ever'day."

"And what if I was to tell you, Daryl, that I already done what I have to do until it's time for you to eat again?" Carol asked.

"Then I'd say you ain't done it all," Daryl said. "And you oughta go check an' see if there ain't somethin' else you should be doin'."

"I'm doing what I oughta be doing," Carol insisted. As a show that she considered the conversation done, Carol dipped her hand in the seeds again and tossed out the handful in the same manner as she'd done before—just as she'd seen Daryl doing it.

Daryl stepped forward and put his hand on her bucket like he intended to pull it away from her and Carol jerked it back.

"You ain't s'posed to have to do this!" Daryl barked at her. His face ran red. It was the angriest that Carol had ever seen him.

"Why not?" Carol asked, her own frustration boiling up. "Give me one good reason, Daryl, that I shouldn't be out here doing what needs to be done and I'll go right back up there and sit and wait until I gotta cook you somethin' to eat."

Daryl frowned at her.

"It ain't your work," Daryl said. "I'm supposed to do this. Work the land. Work the _farm_. Build you a life, Carol. That's what I'm supposed to do. Me! It's man's work! It's what a husband's supposed to do."

Carol's chest caught at a quick change in Daryl's tone of voice.

"That what it says, Daryl? Somewhere in some book you read? Somewhere in some book that Hershel read to you?" Carol asked. "It says that I can't sow seeds to help you build that life? A life that both of us'll live together?"

"I'm sure it does," Daryl said. "You know I ain't read the whole thing, but I'm sure it says it. Says I'm the one what's takin' care of you."

"And you know what else it says, Daryl?" Carol asked. Daryl stared at her. He stared hard at her. He made no gesture to nod or shake his head. He simply stared. Carol took that as invitation enough to speak to him. "It says I'm meant to be your helpmate," Carol said. "I know that. Miss Jo told me that's what it says. I'm your _helpmate_ , Daryl. That means I'm meant to be helping you. In everything you do. In every part of your day. You're building us this here life and you're building us this farm, but I'm supposed to be _helping_ you. And that's what I'm doing. There's nobody else here, Daryl. And this seed's gotta go in the ground or there's no harvest coming. So let me help you, Daryl."

"I told you that if you come out here, and if you married me," Daryl offered, "that I was gonna take care of you."

"And you _do_ take care of me," Carol said.

"Puttin' your ass out in a field and tellin' you to sow seeds all damn day long ain't takin' care of you," Daryl said.

"Puttin' a roof over my head is," Carol said. "Puttin' food on the table is. Makin' me—makin' me the kinda wife that gets to wake up ever'day in a warm house? Keeping me warm through the coldest winter I've ever seen? That's takin' care of me, Daryl. Needing help to do the work of—how many people work on the Greene farm?"

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"Don't matter," Daryl said.

"You're just one man, Daryl," Carol said. "Just one. And you're the best damn man I ever knew in my whole life. But you're still just one man. And I can throw this seed out as good as you can. Together? We work twice as fast. Get it done twice as fast. You and me. When the crop's in the ground, growing just like it should? I'll go back up to the house, Daryl. I'll stay there. I'll do what'cha want me to do and I'll twiddle my thumbs when my work is done 'cause that's what you think I oughta be doing. But let me be the good wife I'm supposed to be. Let me be the good wife that—that the big book that Hershel reads to you says I oughta be and let me be a helpmate."

Daryl swallowed and looked at the ground long enough that Carol wondered if he was trying to count each and every seed that she'd tossed out. The he nodded his head gently.

"I didn't want you havin' to do none of this," Daryl said. "It ain't how I thought things would go. It ain't the kinda life I wanted for you."

Carol frowned at him and shook her head.

"Things don't always go like we think they will, Daryl," Carol said. "I didn't end up in Andrea's house because I was always thinking that was where I would be. It just—happened that way. And I didn't think I would end up here, either. But—here I stand. And you know what? Now? There's none of that I would change for the world. Because if I didn't end up at Andrea's house? I wouldn't have been there that day when you and Merle came through to see what it as all about. And if I wasn't there? I wouldn't be here right now. Daryl? There's no place I'd rather be than right here, right now. And this life? Even if it wasn't what you wanted me to have? It's the best kind of life that I could ever hope to have."

Daryl looked at her. He visibly swallowed.

"You said that about the life you was livin' at Eden," Daryl said. "Best kinda life you could hope to have."

Carol nodded her head.

"So I did," Carol said. "And it was. But things change. And they're gonna change again. This life? It won't always look like this for me and you. But it don't change until the crop goes in the ground."

"Puttin' my wife to work in the field don't make me no kinda husband," Daryl said.

Carol laughed to herself, her chest catching at the thought of how truly troubled Daryl was over his self-set expectations.

"Makes you the best kinda husband there is," Carol said. "Best for me. Makes you the kinda husband that lets me—do what I can to know...we built this life _together_." She smiled at him, hoping to offer him some reassurance, when he looked at her and chewed at his lip again. "Grab your bucket, Daryl. Let's get some of this planted. We both got a lotta work to be doing."

Daryl sighed.

"Fine," he muttered. "But just gettin' the wheat going. Then? You ain't doin' no more of this. I'm takin' care of you."

Carol laughed to herself.

"You always do, Daryl," she responded, dipping her hands once more into the seed that would help to guarantee that there was a future for both of them.

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Daryl walked the back part of the fences and assured himself that they were secure and all the damage had been repaired. They were standing again and nothing short of manmade damage would knock them down. They were sturdy fences. He'd built them well. He'd built them every bit as well as he'd built the fences on the Greene farm when he'd worked there. They weren't falling down. Not on their own.

But they hadn't fallen on their own in the first place.

Four of his cows were missing. Four out of a dozen were gone and someone had taken them in the night. They'd taken down part of his fences—farthest from the house and farthest from the point where he could've heard what they were doing—and they'd taken his cows.

Hershel had given him ten. He'd produced two calves. That's how his herd would grow. One at a time, he would build it. It would grow larger until he was ready to cull it. Then he'd cut out the ones he didn't need to keep for breeding to sell. And so it would continue.

Except now he was short four of his cows because some assholes had come in the night and knocked his fences down. Some assholes had taken four of his cows and he was two in the hole from where he'd started instead of two ahead. He was going backward. He was going in the opposite direction from where he wanted to go. At the rate he was going, there'd be no cows to sell this year. He wouldn't be able to part with any of them. He might not have any left to even keep trying to grow up his herd.

Daryl heard Carol calling him from the house. She was calling him in for supper and he ignored her calls for a few moments. He watched his remaining cows grazing and he contemplated the fences that he knew were secure again. From the house, Carol kept calling him. She moved closer to him, her voice getting louder, to make sure that he heard her.

So, finally, Daryl turned and headed in her direction. He threw up a hand to let her know that he was coming and that he heard her. He watched her, at a distance, as she retreated back toward the house to get the meal on the table.

Daryl walked slowly back toward their little cabin. Smoke rose up out of their chimney where Carol was keeping the fire burning for the warmth it provided—spring still holding some chill of its own, though it was nothing compared to the winter—and for every other purpose that she used it for.

The little cabin was a fine cabin, but it was a far cry from the house that Daryl had promised her. The house that he promised her was going to be big enough for them to live in. It was going to be big enough for them to grow children in. It would be big enough to offer rooms to hands they hired—young men not unlike himself just a year in the past. But at the rate Daryl was going? It would never get built.

The wood he could get. The wood he could cut himself on Hershel's farm. But he was tired of asking Hershel for what he needed. He wanted to buy his own tools. He wanted to buy his own nails. He wanted to pay Joey and Merle for the work they'd do in helping him to frame the house from his own pocket, without Hershel offering them anything to help them make up what they missed from a day working on his farm.

And the wheat money wasn't going to cover all that. At least, it wasn't going to cover all that until another harvest came in. And, another harvest in, the money that he made was going to have to go back into the farm. The money was going to have to go into things they needed to keep going.

Another harvest wasn't going to come in until they were damn near forced to hunker down once more—in the same tiny cabin that they were living in now—to stay warm for another winter.

Daryl stopped by the water pump and pumped out enough water to wash his hands and face. He mounted the steps to the little cabin and let himself inside. He was greeted by the warmth of the fire and the warmth of Carol's smile. The table was set and ready for him and Carol offered him a kiss as a greeting.

But all he could think about was how he hadn't given her the things that he'd promised to give her. He didn't deserve the affections that she heaped on him as though he were some kind of husband that was deserving of so much of her love.

Carol ushered him to the table and she served him his plate. Then she served her own and sat with him.

"You gonna bless the food?" Carol asked.

"Not in the mood," Daryl said.

Carol frowned at him.

"What's wrong?" Carol asked.

"Four are missing," Daryl said. "Rode out a piece, but there ain't no sign of 'em. Ain't gonna be. People took 'em. Weren't nothin' but people come up and flat out took 'em. I seen the boot tracks."

"There'll be more cows, Daryl," Carol said. "That brown heifer's about ready to calve."

"So she is," Daryl said. "Still three cows in the hole, Carol. Can't get ahead like that. Can't build no kinda life when you walkin' backwards twice as fast as you goin' forwards."

Carol reached a hand across the table and she patted Daryl's arm.

"You'll get there, Daryl," Carol said. "We'll get there. Miss Jo? She said that—sometimes it takes a long time to get a farm runnin' smooth. Lots of bumps you gotta get over to get there. Their farm? It weren't built in a day."

"Been a lot longer'n a day, Carol," Daryl said.

"And a lot less than a lifetime," Carol offered.

"I promised you a house, Carol," Daryl said. "A big ole farm an' a good kinda life. A nice house."

"And I believe that's what we're living in," Carol said.

"This weren't what I promised," Daryl said.

"So it's not what you'll build," Carol said. "But you're gonna build something more. When you can. When it's time."

Daryl laughed to himself. It wasn't funny, and he felt no humor at the moment, but still the laugh bubbled up from somewhere inside of him and hung in his throat where the ache he sometimes fought to keep from crying usually got caught.

"I don't even own a fuckin' hammer, Carol," Daryl said. "Ever'thing I used to build this? I got it from Hershel. Ever'thing out here? It's damn near his. I can't build us a house, Carol, if I can't even have a hammer that's mine. Had to borrow the shit to fix the fuckin' fences."

Carol shrugged her shoulders gently.

"I was supposed to go into town tomorrow to buy some thread," Carol said. "Some cloth. What if I wasn't to buy that? What if I was to buy you a hammer instead?"

Daryl shook his head at her.

"Then I ain't givin' you what'cha need," Daryl said.

"I've got all I need, Daryl," Carol said. "I don't—I don't even need that house you're talking about building. I don't need nothing more than what we've already got. But—if that's what you need? What if I was to buy you that hammer? And we'll just stretch the clothes we got a little longer. I can patch them. And I've got enough thread for a little longer."

Daryl looked at her. She was pleading with her eyes for something, even if he wasn't exactly sure what it would take to make that expression go away. The sadness in her eyes hurt his heart.

"You go to town tomorrow," Daryl said. "And you buy the cloth. Buy the thread. Get what'cha need. It don't matter, Carol. Even if I was to build us that house? I can't afford to put nothin' in it right now. I can't afford to—give you nothin' you'd need to make it a home. I thought I was gonna build you somethin' great, Carol. I thought I was gonna give you the kinda life I wanted you to have. But—I ain't the man what can give you all that."

Carol sighed and stood up from the table. She walked around behind Daryl's chair and wrapped her body around him from behind. She squeezed him and then she walked to stand in front of him. When he looked up at her, she took her hand and brushed his hair out of his face tenderly. She bent down and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead before she offered him a soft smile.

"You're the best kinda man, Daryl," Carol said. "You always have been. As long as I've known you. And the life I've got? You gave it to me. And it's the best life, Daryl. The kind of life that—I only dreamed about. I'm no kinda wife if I don't make you feel like you're enough, Daryl. Like you're every bit as much a man as any other."

"You ain't done nothin' wrong," Daryl said. "You done everything I asked you to do. More than I wanted."

Carol returned to her seat and picked up her forth.

"And so have you," Carol said. "Eat your supper before it gets cold, Daryl. I won't be the kind of wife that lets my husband eat a cold supper if I can help it. Bless the food? Even if—we're missing four cows, there's another calf that's coming soon and the wheat's growing fine. We oughta give thanks for what we got to give thanks for. Even if—you feel like you can't find nothing to be thankful for."

Daryl swallowed and nodded his head at her. He reached his hand out to her and she wrapped her cool fingers around his. Daryl rubbed his thumb over her hand.

"Reckon I got some things to be thankful for," Dayl said. Carol stared at him with her big blue eyes and Daryl couldn't help but smile at her in spite of all the heavy feelings that were weighing down on his chest at the moment. "Thankful you're still here, at least."

"I'm not going anywhere," Carol said. She smiled at him and offered him a quick little wink of her eye. "Except, of course, to town tomorrow. For buying cloth and thread—I mean. But—I'll be back after that."

Daryl didn't bite back his own smile at her. He nodded his head.

"Duck your head," Daryl said. "Lemme bless this food 'fore it gets cold."


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Jubilee was a good riding horse and she was every bit as obedient as Carol could ever hope for her to be. She was branded, like Nugget, with Daryl's brand. Two small, interlocking D's made his mark on the livestock that he called his own. The cows they'd lost, too, wore the brands, but Carol doubted they'd ever find the beasts. Whoever had taken them would be smarter than to sell them in town. More than likely they'd already driven them some distance to incorporate them into a larger herd that was probably made up of other stolen livestock.

Carol rode into town on Jubilee and rode directly to the general store, careful to avoid anyone who was bustling about in the busy main street. She hadn't been to town without Daryl since she'd been married—and she'd rarely been before that—but she'd been at least twice _with_ him and she hadn't had any trouble finding her way. At the general store, Carol dismounted and tied her horse, nervously aware of the people around her and what they might say about the fact that she went about without an escort—but small farms couldn't always spare everyone who lived there for half a day. Not without hands to take over the labor.

Carol stepped up on the wooden boards outside the store and walked through the open doors. Inside, the store was empty except for the older man who worked there. He rose from his chair, where he was playing solitaire to pass the time between customers, when Carol walked in.

"Can I help you?" He asked.

Carol swallowed. She reminded herself that she was a respectfully married woman. She reminded herself that she was a farmer's wife with honest money in her pocket. She reminded herself that, as such, she was dressed so that her clothing communicated her position in the world.

"Shopping for my husband," Carol said. "Need coffee, thread, and four yards of that bleached shirting fabric."

The man started to gather together Carol's purchases and, in her mind, Carol went about calculating the price of what she would pay. She examined a few other items while the man gathered together her requests.

"A dollar on the hammer seems pretty high," Carol said.

"Hmmph?" The old man responded.

"A dollar on your hammers," Carol said. "Seems pretty high."

"Can seem what it do," the man responded. "A dollar's a fair price. Taking a cut on what I paid for them. Come in on a freight two weeks ago."

"And I'd say they aren't moving," Carol said. "The hardware don't sell 'em cheaper?"

"A dollar-twelve at the hardware," the old man responded.

"And your gloves?" Carol asked. "You won't budge on them either?"

"Leather didn't come in this year like it shoulda," the man offered as a sort of explanation for the price of the gloves. "Too much cattle froze out there, I reckon. They good made, though. Quality."

Carol's stomach churned as she gathered up a hammer and a pair of good gloves. She carried them toward the counter where her other items were being packaged and she passed them toward the man that was standing there.

"I don't take more'n a dollar credit," the man said. "Your husband got a charge here already?"

"Daryl Dixon," Carol offered. "He's my husband. And I weren't payin' on credit. He don't neither."

A smile flitted across the lips of the store clerk at the mention of cash changing hands. Credit, Carol knew, was the preferred payment method of most who were just getting started, but it was a gamble for store clerks. It was a gamble for anyone who was selling anything. There was nothing that paid better than cash for anything. Carol had learned that from Andrea. The only thing, in some cases, that carried more weight than cash was pussy.

Carol wasn't in the business of paying in trade for pussy any longer.

But pussy wasn't the only thing she had to trade.

Carol pushed the additional purchases toward the store clerk and took out the small purse that Miss Jo had given her as a gift. In the purse she had enough money—some of it tucked away from a few dollars she brought with her from Andrea's—to pay for everything there and leave with change, but she had other ideas.

She watched as the clerk opened his book and tallied up her purchases. She watched him tick off his counting on his fingertips.

And then she stepped away to pretend that she'd forgotten something—to feign that she might be interested in adding something more to her pile of goods.

Carol dawdled long enough to see someone else come into the store. A gentleman looking to buy quite the variety of dry goods like he was stocking his home for the winter that was long before coming again. Carol listened carefully to his order, calculated up what he owed the store clerk, and stepped close enough to the counter to feign interest in some soda crackers while she listened to the clerk give him his total.

"Beg pardon," Carol offered, "but you're short six cents."

The clerk looked at her and the man did too. Carol's heart drummed in her chest.

"Excuse me?" The clerk asked.

"You're short six cents if you charge him that," Carol said. "You added wrong on the flour per pound. He owes you six cents more."

The clerk almost looked indignant, but he worked through his calculations again—or at least pretended to—and quoted the price as it should have been with Carol's additional six cents added onto the total. The man paid the money without argument, took his belongings, and left. And Carol, for her part, pretended to have a certain and distinct interest in a pair of men's boots that she had no real intention to purchase.

She lingered around the store until she'd performed her little trick four more times, much to the visible annoyance of the clerk. Then, feeling that she'd made her point, Carol went up to the counter and counted out her total in front of him before he could quote her the price she was meant to pay for her goods.

"You'd do better to have a bookkeeper," Carol said.

"A what?" The man asked.

"Someone to keep track of your goods," Carol said. "What comes in. What goes out. Someone to keep track of what your customers were to pay. What they might get asked to pay elsewhere in town." Carol walked off a step or two and examined the window—something not being put to good use, in her opinion—before she turned back to the man. "Wouldn't hurt, neither, to have someone that could help you arrange things. Set 'em up so that—things that people's likely to buy? They're easy for them to see. Easy to catch their attention. Remind them that they needed somethin' they were just about to forget. Set up your window so that—things that they didn't know they wanted? Could draw them right in off the street. The wives? They'll be doing the buying for their husbands in town. Your window should draw them right on in."

Andrea had taught Carol, after all, that the biggest sale was made at the door. Teasing men with what they could have—the very best that they could purchase—would bring them in. Then, even if the price was a little too high on what they thought they wanted, they were still likely to make the purchase of a lesser package.

"And I s'pose you expect me to think you know what you're talkin' about?" The man asked.

Carol smiled at him.

"I already earned you twenty seven cents over what you woulda brought in," Carol said. She crossed the room to stand and look at the man, face-to-face. "I'm a married woman. Good at what I do. Everything I do. Fast, too. And I don't have to be home for a while to get supper going. Ten cents on an hour. Take home at the end of the day. And if I don't earn you that and more back?" Carol shrugged her shoulders. "Then you let me go and I don't say nothin' else about it. I can read and write, and I can cipher."

The clerk narrowed his eyes at Carol.

"Ten cents on an hour?" He asked.

Carol nodded her head.

"Payable at the end of the day," Carol said. "Every day you want me to come and work."

"Payable in credit?" The man asked.

Carol shook her head.

"Cash," Carol said. "In hand. Carry home. Just as I paid you. I can start now."

"And what would be my motivation to pay you to come in here and turn things upside down?" The clerk asked.

Carol laughed to herself.

"The increase on your dime," Carol said. "I made you nearly three hours of my wages in less than twenty minutes. You won't get no better turn around than that."

"And your husband?" The man asked. "What's he gonna say about you workin' here for me?"

Carol's stomach turned a little. She didn't know what Daryl might say or how he might feel about her working. She could imagine that he wouldn't be thrilled with the idea. She could imagine that he might feel like he was letting her down by making her work both in their home and off their farm.

But she also felt like she could make him see her side of things. She could make him understand that she could help. She could contribute. She could bring money in that they needed. Money that would keep them going until the crops brought in the rest.

And she could build a reputation for herself. She could put her face out there. She could become well-known around town. She could finally stop worrying that, every time she saw someone looking at her, they were remembering her from Andrea's house. She could stop worrying that they were remembering who she'd been before. She could be confident that they knew her because they'd seen her working a perfectly respectable job in town at the general store.

Carol could talk to Daryl. She was learning his language.

"I'll handle my husband," Carol said. "Don't you worry about that. Do we got a deal?"

"I'll put you on a trial run today," the clerk said. "Ten cents on an hour. We'll see how you do at the end of the day."

Carol nodded her head.

"Fair deal," Carol said. "Will my mare be alright outside?"

"She'll be there when you're looking for her," the clerk responded. "Don't got horse thieves around here. Not that would dare to show they faces in town with the sheriff about."

"I'll need to leave in time to get supper ready," Carol reminded him.

"You keep track of your hours," the clerk responded. "That's your job, after all. But you're workin' here? You start now."

Carol nodded her head and offered him a hand to shake. He seemed hesitant about shaking her hand at first, but finally he stuck his hand out and shook hers.

"You won't be sorry," Carol said. "I can promise you that."

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With forty cents in her pocket that she wouldn't have had without her efforts, and with her purchases loaded into Jubilee's saddle bags, Carol headed for home. She watched the sky as she rode. She'd get home in plenty of time to have Daryl's supper ready and on the table for him when he was ready to eat. She'd have enough time, before bed, to patch the shirt she'd put to the side to patch, and she'd have time to prepare things for the morning.

She hoped that presenting her purchases to Daryl, and offering him the forty cents as well, would work to soften the impact of what she had to say to him. She hoped that it would work to win him over to her side. He might see, easily enough, that this was something that was good for the both of them. This would help them get where they were going at a little faster rate than they were already headed there.

Ten cents an hour was respectable pay for a respectable job—and the money would spend as good as any money ever had.

It was a down payment on their life. It was a down payment on their future. It would buy the things that Daryl needed to give them the life that they both dreamed about.

Carol had earned a decent amount of money in her life, and she'd spent almost as much, but this would be the best money that she'd ever earned and the best that she ever spent. And Daryl, she was sure, would eventually see things her way.

She just needed to get home, prepare supper for him, and figure out exactly how she was going to present it to him so that he saw, and so that he understood, that it was her _choice_. But her choice to work in no way meant that she thought he couldn't take care of her. It didn't mean that she thought he couldn't be the best kind of husband that any man could be. He was already that.

It just meant that she felt that there was more that _she_ could do, as the good wife he wanted her to be, to ensure that they lived the best kind of life that they could.

And forty cents in her pocket—earned in the most respectable way possible—was the best help that she had to offer.


	16. Chapter 16

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Carol planned not to say a thing about her trip to town until Daryl gave her an opening to speak about it. She prepared dinner, just as she always did, and she called Daryl in to eat. When he came inside, she offered him a kiss and she served him before she took her seat to eat at the table with him. Daryl blessed the food with the same rudimentary blessing that he'd learned—one that asked for good health for them and blessings for them and their farm—and then he tasted the food and declared it the best that he'd ever eaten.

When Daryl had eaten a little of his meal, he wiped his mouth on the cloth napkin that Carol laid out for him and finally addressed her.

"Jubilee done good today?" He asked.

"Rode good," Carol said. "Waited good too. Just as nice as I coulda asked."

"They ain't give you no trouble in town?" Daryl asked. "Give you ever'thing you need?"

Carol hummed and nodded her head. She wiped her own mouth and got up from her chair. Most of her purchases wouldn't be of interest to Daryl—he appreciated her work on their clothes, but he didn't care to know the details behind it—but the gloves and the hammer were specifically for him. Carol gathered up the two items and she brought them over, wrapped in the brown paper that the store clerk had wrapped them in, and placed them on the table to the side of Daryl's plate. Daryl stared at them a moment and then looked at her with furrowed brows.

"What you got here?" Daryl asked.

"For you," Carol said.

"What is it?" Daryl asked.

Carol laughed quietly to herself.

"It's a present, Daryl," Carol said. "You have to open it to know what it is."

Daryl stared at the brown paper like it might be holding a rattler. He shook his head at her.

"Didn't ask you to get me nothin'," Daryl said.

"That's the idea of a present, Daryl," Carol said. "You don't ask for it. Someone just gives it to you because they want you to have it."

"This somethin' you get in town?" Daryl asked. Carol hummed and returned to her seat. She watched Daryl as he contemplated the packages that she wasn't certain he was ever going to open. "You went to town to get things you needed, Carol. Things for clothes."

"And I got that," Carol assured him. "But I got you a few things too."

"We ain't got the money for things, Carol, that we don't need," Daryl said.

Carol licked her lips.

"It was my money," Carol said. Daryl opened his mouth like he might protest and Carol shook her head at him. "It was my money, Daryl. Money I brought with me from Andrea. I didn't spend none of our money on that. It was my money that was supposed to be keepin' me safe. It was supposed to be—in case somethin' happened, Daryl, and I was needing money to get back there. To get back somewhere safe."

Daryl looked struck. He looked, also, like the spit that he was trying to swallow down—now that his meal seemed to be forgotten about—was getting stuck in his throat.

"You kept money from there?" Daryl asked. Carol nodded her head gently. "'Cause you was thinkin' that I wouldn't keep you safe?"

Carol frowned at him.

"I didn't know what was gonna happen, Daryl," Carol said. "I didn't know nothing when I came with you. And I got there before because I wasn't smart enough to have some money tucked away. I didn't have nothing to call my own. Where I came from before? I didn't have nothing, Daryl. And the only reason I even lived at all is because Andrea...well, because she took me in. I just kept the money to feel safe, Daryl. In case something were to happen and you weren't to think I was fit to be your wife."

Daryl swallowed again, still obviously pained by the spit that was hung in his throat, and he shook his head.

"Then you ought notta spent your money," Daryl said. "If it was there to make you feel safe? If it did what it was supposed to do and made you feel safe? You ought notta spent it."

Carol smiled softly at him and shook her head.

"I don't need it anymore," Carol said. "I don't need the money to feel safe. I—I've got you. And you make me feel safe, Daryl. So I don't need the money. So—open your gifts. You'll see, then, that I spent money on something new. Somethin' else that makes me feel safe."

Daryl picked up the brown paper bundle and held it in his hands for a moment before he unwrapped it and came to hold the hammer and gloves in his hands, the paper falling to the floor. He stared at both of his new possessions and turned them over in his hands like he didn't know what he was looking at.

"Your hands dry somethin' awful out there," Carol said. "Bleed like they do. But the gloves? They're good gloves, Daryl. They'll—they'll keep your hands safe. They won't hurt so much. And the hammer? Daryl—maybe we can't buy you all the tools you need right now. And maybe you gotta go a little bit longer borrowin' things from Hershel Greene. But you got a hammer now. It's the first thing you need, right? The first thing you gotta have to start buildin' all the things I know you gonna build."

"How much you spend on all this?" Daryl asked.

Carol's stomach turned. He was worried about the money. He was always worried about the money. And Carol understood that he was worried about it because the money was what meant they kept going or they didn't—but she wished she could erase the worry from his face. Even for just a moment, she'd like to see him without worry.

"I never asked you how much you spent to bring me here," Carol said. "I did see what you handed over to Andrea. To pay back all I owed. To pay back what I woulda earned to give her myself. I did see that, Daryl. But I never asked you what you spent on anything else. Don't ask me what I spent when it was my money to spend in the first place."

"Money you earned there," Daryl said, his tone not giving away anything about what he was thinking at the moment. "Money you earned—did you earn it with me, Carol? Was it my money? From when—from when I come there?"

Carol's stomach twisted with the expression that crossed Daryl's features quickly. She didn't believe it was right to lie to him. He was her husband and she should be honest with him about everything. But she also felt that, maybe, it wasn't always wrong to lie. Not if the lie wouldn't hurt him—but the truth might.

"Yeah," Carol said softly. "Probably, Daryl." She chose, rather than to side with either truth or a lie entirely, to choose something that was right down the middle. "I mean—I didn't mark the dollars but—I think it was. Money you gave me. Money you paid me."

Daryl nodded his head quickly. He put the hammer and gloves on the table.

"You shouldn'ta spent your money," Daryl said.

"I had to," Carol said. "I had to because—I didn't need it no more. Not for what it was intended. And there's gonna be no more mine and no more yours, Daryl. There's just—what we got. What we need for building our life. And—that money? It's not my life now, Daryl. You took me away from that. You gave me this. And—it only seemed right that the money oughta go into building more of this. More for us."

Daryl nodded his head. It was, apparently, all the acceptance that Carol could expect from him at the moment. Carol pushed herself up from the table and went for the forty cents that she had planned to show to Daryl. As long as she was putting it all out there, now was as good a time as any to tell Daryl of her plans for their future.

Carol returned to her seat, the money cold in her hand, and finally put the change on the table in front of Daryl.

"That what you got left?" Daryl asked. "Of the money I give you at Andrea's? The money you had from Eden?"

Carol shook her head.

"That's the money I earned today, Daryl," Carol said. "Forty cents. I earned it in town today."

Daryl's face went red and Carol immediately realized her mistake. She didn't have time to correct it, though, before Daryl reacted. He stood up quickly enough that his chair rocked and Carol feared—for just a moment—that she might have found the one thing that would make Daryl break his promise to her that he would never hit her.

He _looked_ mad enough to hit her.

But he didn't.

"Fuck you say?!" Daryl spat at her. "Send you to town to buy some damn shit you need for mendin' shirts an' you tell me you...you tell me you..."

"Daryl!" Carol yelled, hoping to surprise him enough to demand his attention. She felt her throat tighten. She felt the threat of tears. "No! No! I promise! I didn't earn it like that! I'd never do that! I'd never do that to you!"

Daryl didn't seem to hear her, though, because he turned and walked away from her. He walked out the door of the cabin and he dismounted the steps quickly. Carol followed after him as he walked away without seeming to have any real destination in mind beyond _away from Carol_.

"Don't'cha fuckin' follow me!" Daryl spat at her. "Don't'cha do it!"

"Daryl!" Carol called, ignoring his insistence that she not follow him. "You gotta listen to me! You gotta hear me! I didn't do nothin' that you wouldn't want me to do. I swear to you! I didn't earn that money doing nothin' that would've shamed you!"

Daryl stopped walking, but he kept his back turned to Carol.

"Then how the hell you earn it?" He asked, his voice coming out like he was barking at her.

"I earned it keepin' books for the store clerk," Carol said. "In town. I can cipher, Daryl. I can read and write. I got a job with him. Just workin' the hours I can in a day. Ten cents on the hour. I'll be makin' sure he's gettin' the money he's supposed to. Help straighten up the store. I'll only be working the hours that I don't got things I need to do here."

Daryl turned around, but Carol didn't miss the swipe he took at his face with the back of his hand. She didn't say anything about it either, though.

"Ain't right you workin' somewhere," Daryl said. "Ain't right you got a job somewhere. You ain't supposed to have to work, Carol. I weren't gonna make you that kinda wife."

"You didn't make me anything, Daryl," Carol said. "That's why I didn't tell you about it before I talked to him. I knew you wouldn't want me doing it. But—Daryl? You don't want me working here because you say it ain't woman's work. You say that feeding the cows and working around here? It's too heavy and it's too hard for me. Workin' there? Daryl—I'm not lifting nothing heavier'n a pencil. And it's money, Daryl. It ain't much, but it'll help get us through to the harvest. It'll help buy more tools that you need. It'll help buy seed. Cows. Whatever we need to buy? The money I earn there? It spends just as good as the money that came from the wheat." Daryl shook his head at her. Even if she couldn't see his face clearly, she could tell that he was calming down. He was holding himself differently. His fists were no longer balled at his side. "Come back inside, Daryl?" Carol pleaded softly. "Please? Finish your dinner. We can talk about this. We can—sit down at the table and we can talk about it. Please, Daryl? For me?"

"It don't look right," Daryl said. "You havin' to work in some store 'cause I can't give you what'cha need."

"You give me all I need," Carol said. "And me workin' in that store doesn't mean that you don't. It means—that I want to help give you what you need. Daryl? Come back inside?"

Daryl accepted Carol's request to return to the house. His strides, even though he was calmer than he had been, still carried him a farther distance over the ground as he headed back toward the cabin. In silence, Carol doubled her own steps to keep up with him and she followed him back inside their home. Inside, Daryl stood awkwardly by his chair until Carol invited him—being sure to use the same soft tone that she'd employed outside—to sit with her. As soon as he was seated, she returned to her chair.

"You need to finish your supper," Carol said.

"Ain't real hungry," Daryl said.

"Keep your strength up," Carol said.

"So my wife don't gotta work to take care of us both?" Daryl asked, a little bitterness coming through in his tone. "So ever' damn body don't know that I can't take care of my own damn wife?"

Carol swallowed.

"So you can build us the life that we wanna have together," Carol said. "With a strong back and—strong arms. Strong hands." She sucked in a breath. "Daryl—if me workin' at the store's gonna be too hard on you? If you really don't want me to do it and you just—you just can't see a way around letting me do it? Then I'll ride into town tomorrow and tell him I won't do it. I'll stay here. Just right here. And I won't go anywhere and I won't do anything that you don't want me to do. If that's what you need me to do? To be the kinda wife that you need me to be? Daryl—I can do that. But..."

"But..." Daryl echoed.

"But I really hope that you'll be the kinda husband that'll understand that there's things you need to do and there's things I need to do," Carol said. "And—there ain't no shame in either of 'em if we're workin' toward the same thing."

"What they gonna say, Carol?" Daryl asked.

Carol shrugged her shoulders.

"There's women in town that's got jobs," Carol said. "There's a woman in town that sets the type for the paper. And there's a woman that works at the bank. I've met her a couple of times. A woman that—she works doing bookkeeping like I'm doing, but she does it at the hardware. Daryl—there's women that are workin' out there and they're earnin' the money that they need. Respectable married women."

"They husbands is the men what owns them places," Daryl said. "An' you know it too."

Carol swallowed and nodded her head.

"They are," Carol said. "But Joseph Wagner? The clerk? Daryl—he's married too. Got grown kids. There ain't nothin' shameful about me working there. He can't cipher, Daryl. Not real good. And I can. It ain't much money, but it's something. It's something that would help me feel like I was helping you, Daryl. And you don't gotta worry about me gettin' kicked or—or trampled by a bull. You don't gotta worry about me gettin' hurt because I'm just workin' with paper all day. Daryl, I've done things I was ashamed of before. Things where—I couldn't hold my head up in front of people. But this ain't one of them things. I had no kinda reputation. And now? I'm married to Daryl Dixon. A man who pays honest money for things and don't live on credit in town. A man that—don't go into any of them establishments and don't frequent saloons. And I gotta leave at a good hour to get home to fix my husband supper when he comes up outta the fields where he's working to build us the best kinda life we can lead together. I gotta—get home so I can fix my husband's plate. Serve it to him like I should. So I can fix his bed for him. I got a respectable life now, Daryl, and you gave that to me. Won't you let me work a respectable job so I can help us get everything you dreamed of? Everything we dreamed of? Just until the wheat comes in and we got all we need?"

Daryl chewed his lip. It was clear that he wasn't entirely sold on the idea and it was clear that he was struggling with a good deal of emotions that he wasn't ready to share with her, but it was also clear that he was at least considering Carol's plea.

Carol carefully reached her hand over and placed it gently on Daryl's arm.

"At least consider it?" Carol pleaded.

"You got a lotta work here, Carol," Daryl said. "Chickens and hogs. Makin' the home."

Carol smiled to herself. She swallowed and nodded her head.

"I promise that I don't leave the farm until my chores are done," Carol said. "But—I'm gettin' so used to what I'm doin' here? Daryl, I'm gettin' done in part the time I used to take. And I promised you that I was gonna keep you a comfortable home. That I was gonna be here and I would be everything you wanted me to be in a wife. If you tell me that I'm not doing that? Daryl—there ain't no question about it. I'll quit working in town. I'll come back here and I'll do nothin' except what makes you happy."

"But this is gonna make you happy?" Daryl asked.

"I think it would make me very happy," Carol said, "to feel like I was helping in some way."

Daryl sucked in a breath.

"You really wanna do this?" Daryl asked. "You ain't—you ain't doin' it 'cause I don't give you enough?"

"I want to do this," Carol said. "You give me more'n I even knew I wanted."

"What if I was to—give you a trial run of it?" Daryl asked. "See how it is? And if you don't like it? Then you don't gotta do it. The minute you don't be happy doin' it? You don't gotta do it."

"I think that would be fair," Carol said. "And—if you're not happy? If you're not—if I'm not giving you what you need? Then I don't gotta do it, either." Daryl nodded his head. "Does that sound fair to you, Daryl?" Carol pressed.

"A week," Daryl said. "Lemme just—lemme just think on it a week."

"While I'm working?" Carol asked.

Daryl nodded his head again.

"A week's fair to see—if you gonna like it," Daryl said. "And I want you home at a decent hour. You ain't ridin' back and forth when it's dark or even gettin' close to it."

Carol shook her head.

"Never," Carol said. "I'll leave when the sun's up and I'll be back when it's up. I promise you."

"And I don't want—I don't want people thinkin' that I don't treat you right. That I don't—that I ain't the right kinda husband for you," Daryl added.

Carol smiled to herself.

"They'll never think that," Carol assured him. "And if they do? I'll set 'em straight, Daryl. I promise you that. I'll tell 'em that they're wrong."

Daryl laughed quietly to himself. A short burst of the amusement crept through his serious countenance for just a moment.

"I'm sure you will," he said. "You don't hold your tongue for nothin' else."

"Does that bother you, Daryl?" Carol asked. "You want me to change that?"

"No," Daryl said. "Don't want'cha to change a thing."

Carol became aware of the fact that her heart was pounding in her chest only once she realized that whatever trouble might have been stirred up had passed—at least for a week.

"Eat your supper, Daryl," Carol said softly. "And then we'll go to bed. We both got a lotta work to do tomorrow. And I wouldn't mind—if we could manage—getting to bed a little early tonight. I'd like a little time with my husband. If you think you've got it to spare?"

Daryl looked at her and the corner of his mouth turned up slightly. The redness was draining out of his face, but it was clear that his earlier burst of anger left him at least a little tired. He nodded his head gently.

"I got it to spare," Daryl said. "I might not have much else to give you. Sure not all that I want. But—that I got."


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"Is she disrespecting you, Daryl?" Hershel asked.

Daryl had asked the old man to come by the farm and give him a hand in choosing where they'd set the farmhouse and in deciding how big Daryl might want to plan for it to be, but he'd really wanted something else entirely from him. They were working while they talked, but at least it was giving Daryl a chance to run things by him that he wasn't sure he was handling well on his own.

"She don't never," Daryl said.

"Did you ask her to stop working?" Hershel asked.

"Told her she could," Daryl said. "While I was thinkin' on it a week." He sighed. "An' she said she would. Said she'd up an' stop 'fore she even started good if that's what I said I wanted her to do."

"But it wasn't what you said you wanted her to do?" Hershel asked.

"She likes the workin' idea," Daryl said. "Says it's what she wants to do. Says it makes her happy."

"And what do you want?" Hershel asked.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders at the old man.

"Want her to be happy," Daryl said. "I promised her that. Promised—I'd make her happy. Do whatever the hell I gotta do to make her happy."

"And letting her work is what's going to make her happy," Hershel finished for him when Daryl hesitated.

"You ever let Miss Jo work?" Daryl asked.

"She works on the farm," Hershel said. "Jobs she can do. She works in the house."

"Ain't the same thing," Daryl said.

Hershel laughed to himself.

"No," he agreed. "It isn't. But then, Jo has never told me that workin' off my farm would make her happy."

"What would you do if she did?" Daryl asked.

"I can't know that for sure, son," Hershel said. "I think—in my life? I've been quick to say that there were things that I would do...or things that I surely _wouldn't_ do. And I've been wrong on both counts."

"But you leanin' one direction or the other," Daryl said.

Hershel sighed this time and walked away from Daryl. Pulling off his gloves as he went—gloves that were older than Daryl's but the same sort of thing—Daryl didn't have to ask where he was going. He was headed for water. And Daryl, feeling a little parched himself, followed after him for his words and the water that he'd draw up out of the pump.

"I don't think I'd want Jo workin' in town," Hershel said. "And that's just because I know the kinda people that are in town most of the time. These hours? They're workin' hours. You and me—every proper man that ain't on his day off is workin' right now. That's how it should be. And if he doesn't work—then he spends his time in town."

"Goin' to Eden," Daryl said.

Hershel hummed and nodded. Reaching the pump, he worked it to prime it and begin pumping drinking water into the bucket that they kept there for just such a thing.

"Visiting saloons," Hershel said. "Whorehouses. Standin' around on the street harassing them that's got places to be and things to do. A man who's drinking at this hour is a man who's up to no good by sundown."

"Or passed out in a ditch somewhere," Daryl said.

"I wouldn't want Jo around it because it I wouldn't be there to see that nobody was bothering her," Hershel said. "Carol's at the general store, though, so you know she's safe while she's there. Joe Wagner's a good man. The kinda man that wouldn't let no woman in his store get taken over by someone."

"But it's the road you worried about," Daryl said. "The between here an' there?"

Hershel looked at him and raised his eyebrows at him before he offered him the cup that he'd been drinking from.

"Is that what you're worried about?" Hershel asked.

Daryl drank the water like it was whisky and would solve his problems—at least temporarily. It didn't, though—and neither did whisky, for that matter.

"I don't go no gun what's small enough for her to carry," Daryl said.

"So you thought about it," Hershel responded.

"I could teach her to shoot," Daryl said. "Wouldn't be no bad thing. We get assholes what come 'round here after dark anyway. Wouldn't be no bad thing her learnin' to shoot. But she can't ride Jubilee with my gun at her side an' I ain't got but the one gun."

Hershel looked around him—he took in everything about Daryl's farm. The farm was growing, that was for sure, but it wasn't growing at the rate Daryl wanted it to grow. He just couldn't seem to get the reality to catch up with what was in his head.

"That young brown calf you got off that heifer is a nice looking animal," Hershel said. "And I could use a new bull in my fields. Got some that I was going to cull out. Could see fit to letting you use them—if you wanted—before I sell them. Cover a heifer or two. But—what would make you see fit to parting with that calf?"

Daryl's stomach twisted.

"We lost four," Daryl said. "Way I'm going? That calf might be all I got left."

"You've coaxed more calves out of your heifers this year than I have," Hershel said. "And I see you got another that's just about ready to drop. You'll make up the four with interest. Especially with a couple of bulls my cows are tired of seeing."

"What you got in mind?" Daryl asked.

"I've got a pistol," Hershel said. "Small. Lightweight. Well taken care of and clean. Ammunition for it too. I believe I could see a way of giving you that gun in exchange for that calf—if you could see a way of parting with him."

"Small enough for Carol?" Daryl asked.

"I believe it'd be just the right size that she could wear it on her," Hershel said. "Without any real inconvenience, of course. Hope she don't never have cause to use it, but she'd have it if she did."

Daryl considered it and finally nodded his head.

"Yeah," Daryl said. "Yeah. I'll give you that there calf for the gun. Ammunition, too, or it ain't no good."

"Got a whole box of it," Hershel said. "They sell it in town, too. If you used too much shooting targets with her. It's a popular gun with the ladies."

Daryl offered a hand out to Hershel and the old man took it.

"You can ride back with me," Hershel said. "I'll send Merle to help you get those bulls back."

"I got two heifers ready to cover," Daryl said. "But I don't know if it'll take on the first try."

"That'll be fine, son," Hershel said. "I can sell them bulls any day for what they'll be used for. Besides—I'll just be happy to have them outta my fields."

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Daryl stood staring, somewhat unsure, at the stall that Miss Jo had brought him to see in the barn. Running around in there, like they were having the time of their short lives, were five dogs that Daryl would have described as piebald mutts.

"They're at least two months old," Miss Jo said. "You can see—Annie don't even pay them attention anymore. She's been out of the barn for almost two days now."

"What are they?" Daryl asked.

"They're dogs, Daryl," Miss Jo said. Though that wasn't what Daryl was referring to, he was thankful that the woman didn't use a tone of voice that said she'd reprimand him for his stupidity if that were the case. He laughed at her. "I know they dogs," Daryl said. "But I ain't never seen no huntin' dog what looked like them before."

"I suppose they're mutts," Miss Jo said. "Hershel says Annie's a setter, but you can see their father must've been a good deal shorter than Annie was."

Daryl scratched at the back of his neck.

"Don't seem like it makes sense, do it?" Daryl asked. "Him bein' that much shorter'n her—don't seem like it'd worked out. But it musta worked out somehow." Daryl felt his face grow warm when he saw the look that Miss Jo gave him. He realized that it probably wasn't proper to ruminate on the breeding habits of the area's dogs in her presence. He cleared his throat to try to clear away a little of his embarrassment. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Don't be," Miss Jo responded with a laugh. "Don't look like it should've worked out, but it did. Still, they're good pups and they'll be good enough dogs with some training."

Daryl shrugged his shoulders at her, not entirely sure why she'd brought him there, and then nodded his head.

"Reckon they will," he said. "Dog is a dog. Good luck with 'em."

"You're not going to pick one of them out?" Miss Jo asked.

"Why'd I do that?" Daryl asked.

"For Carol," Miss Jo said. "A gun offers fine protection for some things, but a well-trained dog offers it too."

"Them's just pups," Daryl pointed out.

"And they'll grow," Miss Jo said. "Besides—even if they aren't the best dogs in the world, they'll make good companions."

Daryl swallowed.

Part of him, deep down inside, wanted the dogs. He'd always wanted a dog. Ever since he'd first seen someone that had a dog—following all around at his heels—Daryl had longed for one. He couldn't imagine what it might feel like to have something that followed you like that. Like it would follow you to the ends of the earth and back just because you were his master. He couldn't imagine what it might feel like to have something that was so loyal to you that it never left your side.

Of course, he'd never owned a dog of his own—but _loyalty_ was still important to him.

"Good companions is just another mouth to feed," Daryl said.

"And Annie lives mostly off scraps that we weren't going to eat anyway," Miss Jo said. "What they eat in food, they make up in no time. Let you know right away when someone's near that's got no business being on your property. One saved cow is enough to justify throwing a little extra food out the door. Helps keep your chickens safe too. Hogs. A dog more'n pays for its food, Daryl. Don't you worry about that."

Daryl shook his head.

"Just can't," he said. "Traded that calf for the gun. Hell—we so strapped for money it's what the hell's got Carol out there in the first place workin' at the general store. I just don't got the money to buy no dog, even if it wouldn't eat nothin' that I weren't willin' to part with."

Miss Jo frowned at him.

"I weren't askin' you to pay for the dog, Daryl," Miss Jo said. "We can't keep all of 'em. Just like the barn cats we offer off to them that needs them—we won't keep the pups. I was telling you to pick one—for Carol."

"I don't wanna take nothin' that you was gonna sell," Daryl said.

Miss Jo smiled at him.

"The pups are mine," Miss Jo said. "And you oughta know by now that my animals aren't for sale. I can give them away as I see fit, but I don't accept trade for them. Givin' them to a good home is one thing. Sellin' 'em? It feels too much like disrespecting them. Won't you take one of my pups for Carol? For the farm?"

Daryl looked back at the wiggling and over-excited animals. He nodded his head.

"Yeah," Daryl said. "I guess—give me the one what you think she'd like."

Miss Jo almost looked giddy. She pushed past Daryl and pushed her way into the stall, closing the door behind her just moments before she practically dived into the puppies that surrounded her.

"You'll take two," she declared, fishing around in the animals like she was looking for specific ones.

"I can't be takin' two of your pups," Daryl said.

"Nonsense," Miss Jo said. "You'll take two. Even pups get lonely and they'll keep each other company. One pup for you and one for Carol. And you can thank me by taking a handful of those kittens off my hands when Sooty drops them. I'll never get rid of them all otherwise and we've already got a dozen hunting the mice and snakes out of everything."

Miss Jo emerged from her pile of piebald puppies with one under each arm. Both of the dogs were wriggling in a desperate attempt to reach her face with their tongues. She nodded her head at Daryl and he let her out of the stall, pushing back the door—a board attached to it that dragged the ground—and the remaining puppies as soon as she was free from it.

"Here you go," Miss Jo said. "I've been calling this one Toby, and this one Shadow, but you can change their names. Give'm something proper when they earned it if you want."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"He ain't even dark like a shadow," Daryl pointed out, gesturing toward the dog that she'd given the ill-fitting name to.

"No," Miss Jo ceded, "but he follows on your heels like one. Come on. We'll get the wagon and I'll ride out to the farm with you. Make sure you make it back with the bulls and pups."

"Hershel gonna want you doin' that?" Daryl asked.

Miss Jo winked at him.

"I got a feeling he will," she confirmed. "Merle'll just have to drive. I don't know how you boys do it. I hate drivin' a team. I was certainly never fit to be a bullwhacker."

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"Oh but Daryl, they're so little," Carol said. "Can't we let them stay in the house for a few nights?"

"They outside dogs, Carol," Daryl said. "Good for protection. Gonna be good for huntin' an' workin' with the cows. They ain't sleepin' in the house."

"What if they freeze?" Carol asked.

"Ain't that cold," Daryl said. "And when it gets that cold? We'll fix 'em up someplace to go. Right now they fine in the barn. They was borned in one an' they lived in one 'til we dragged 'em right over here. They gonna be fine in the barn tonight."

Carol had seemed genuinely surprised by her gifts—the gun and the pups equally—but she'd seemed pleased with both as well. Without the bullets in it, Daryl had her already walking around the house and carrying the gun to get used to the feeling of it. It was small enough that it fit right into her hand. It was just exactly what she'd need to carry with her—the kind of gun that wouldn't weigh her down. It would be easy for her to handle, Daryl figured, and that would make her a lot safer than she would be with a gun that she just wasn't ready for yet.

The puppies had pleased her too, and it hadn't taken more than a minute to see that she was partial to the one that Miss Jo called Toby. The dog looked like he was wearing a mask across his eyes and he wiggled and squirmed, lapping his tongue at Carol, already, like she was the greatest thing he'd ever seen in his life. And Carol, in response, had taken a some scraps from cloth that she didn't see fit to use and she'd packed it in with the hay in the stall that the dogs would call home until they were big enough to roam the property. She'd fed them until their bellies looked ready to burst on scraps of food, leftover biscuits from early in the day, and milk from one of their dairy cows.

Now, inside the house and full on their own supper, Carol was sitting at the table touching the gun at intervals that lay in front of her while Daryl reclined on the bed and enjoyed the feeling of his own digestion chewing up everything good that he'd eaten.

"You're really gonna teach me to shoot?" Carol asked.

"Tomorrow," Daryl said. "Tell Mr. Wagner that you can't stay late. Come home early tomorrow. I'ma take you out to the woods and work with you. You oughta get the hang of it pretty quick, but we'll work until you do. It's easy, really. Just point an' shoot. That gun ain't gonna kick back on ya too hard."

"And when will you teach me to shoot your gun?" Carol asked. "For when I'm here and you aren't? 'Cause I might need it, Daryl."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Comes after you get good with yours," Daryl said. "Damn kick back on that one's gonna bang the hell outta your shoulder for a while. Reckon we'll hold that off 'til at least you can handle a gun what fits in your hand."

"They just give you the pups?" Carol asked. "You didn't have to pay for them?"

"Just give 'em to me," Daryl said. "Thanked me for takin' 'em. Miss Jo don't got the heart to sell 'em and Hershel said he can't have but so many damn dogs runnin' around underfoot. Deal is, though, you gotta take a couple of them barn cats when they cat drops 'em. Not a bad deal, though. They'll stay outta the way. Eat the shit we don't want no way. Rather them eat the snakes than you throw back some hay in there one day an' get bit by somethin'."

"We can't afford losing that calf, Daryl," Carol pointed out.

"Well it's done," Daryl said. "Them bulls'll cover them heifers again. They gonna be more calfs around here."

Carol got up from the table and walked over to the fire that was burning low in the fireplace—just enough to put off a little heat and warm the pot of water that she had over it. Carol got the pot out of the fireplace and carried it over to fill the washbowl with it.

"I don't see hardly nobody on the road, Daryl," Carol said. "I didn't have to have a gun."

"Trick is," Daryl responded, "that you don't see hardly nobody until you see 'em. Rather you got the gun, Carol, and don't have need to use it than you don't got it when you oughta."

"When will there be more calves, Daryl?" Carol asked.

"When they get borned," Daryl said. "Reckon them bulls won't hesitate when it's time. I got two cows out there though that's ready to be serviced. They don't get the job done tonight—might take a lil' time tomorrow to go out and see how things is going. Wouldn't mind seein' the servicin' to make sure they good."

Carol snorted.

"Come get your bath, Daryl," Carol said. She stripped out of her clothes and Daryl pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. He didn't move, immediately, because he got caught up watching her delicately wash herself. It wasn't until she reminded him again that Daryl started working his way out of the clothes that he hadn't lost since he'd come in the door. Finally stripped of them, Daryl walked over to join her and Carol pushed his hand away when he went for the rag to wash himself. Daryl closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of the thorough baths that Carol so often gave him—following up her washing with sweet and gentle kisses to his skin.

She giggled while she washed him, this time, and the out-of-place laughter made Daryl look down at her. He wouldn't have minded her laughter if she wasn't washing around his prick, but he didn't figure that was proper location for laughing.

"The hell you found's so funny down there?" Daryl asked.

"Your prick's hard," Carol said.

"And? You knowed it would be," Daryl said. "You always do that to me. It's your own damn fault."

Carol straightened herself up and returned the rag to the water bowl.

"And is it for me?" She asked. "Or because you been thinking about goin' down to the field tomorrow to watch the cows fuckin'?"

Daryl narrowed his eyes at her, but he couldn't be too pissed off. She looked every bit as much like an angel right now—with just a little bit of the devil curling up the corners of her lips—as she had in Eden the day that he'd gotten her so stuck in his mind that he knew he'd never be able to sleep again without her.

"I'm goin' to watch the cows fuck to make sure they get covered right," Daryl said.

"There's a wrong way to do it?" Carol asked, raising her eyebrows at Daryl. "Pricks go in pussies. Isn't that the way it works in the whole of the animal kingdom?"

"You really interested in this?" Daryl asked. "Or you just yankin' me around 'cause you ain't ready to sleep yet?"

Carol walked over to the bed and folded the blankets back like she did every night. She slipped into them and patted the bed beside her.

"I'm really interested," Carol said. "If there's a right way and a wrong way—I wanna know about it."

Daryl laughed to himself. If she wanted to know, he'd tell her what he knew. Though his knowledge was limited to what Hershel felt it important to tell him for the growth of the herd. Daryl joined her in the bed and Carol flicked the covers over him and entertained herself, while he talked, by rubbing her hand over his chest and teasing his nipples.

"Don't guess they's a right way an' a wrong way to fuck," Daryl said. "But they's a difference in a servicin' that's likely to take an' one that ain't. An' you tryin' to build a herd? Got a lotta damn interest in the right way there."

"What takes?" Carol asked.

Daryl laughed to himself. He felt his face grow as hot as it had the day that Hershel had dragged him to observe the servicing that he was arranging between his own bulls and heifers. He might sleep with Carol, but talking to her about cows fucking felt like a whole different thing. He cleared his throat.

"See—if he don't get in there good? If it goes too shallow before he...before he...ya know?" Daryl offered. Carol nodded her head at him. She knew. She could figure it out. "It don't got a good chance a' takin'. If he gets in there real good, though—all the way? Well—she's gonna react. You gonna know he got in there good. Got a better chance a' takin'. That's all."

Carol licked her lips.

"How do you know he got in there good?" Carol asked. She laughed quietly, but quickly got it under control. "How do you know—how do you know a cow's having a good time, Daryl?"

Daryl swallowed and shook his head.

"Don't think it's a good time," Daryl said. "She'll kinda buck. Sometimes—try to get away from him. Hump up her back. Don't think—it don't look like a real good time. But—it's what the hell's gotta happen if you wantin' a calf. Hell—he gets in there good enough? You'll see her go off to lay down."

Carol hummed.

"I guess that could be really good or really bad," Carol said. "Depending on what the cow thinks."

Daryl hummed.

"Reckon so," Daryl ceded.

"Sounds like something Andrea woulda said you gotta request up front first," Carol said.

Daryl nodded his head at Carol.

"More'n likely," Daryl said.

Carol bit her lip and continued to trail her hand around his chest. It wasn't long, though, before she trailed her fingers down his stomach and made his muscles jump there. She smiled to herself when he wriggled away, almost involuntarily, from the tickling sensation. In response, she changed the pressure of her touch and worked her way farther down, teasing him to get him every bit as hard as he'd been while she was washing him.

"I want you to fuck me like that," Carol said.

"Do what?" Daryl asked, surprised by her request.

Carol laughed quietly and somewhat batted her eyelashes at him.

"Like you said," Carol said. "I want you to—you know—fuck me like that."

"You want me to fuck you like a _cow_?" Daryl asked.

"It doesn't sound nice if you say it that way," Carol said. "But, yeah."

"So as you don't like it?" Daryl asked.

Carol shrugged her shoulders.

"You don't know they don't like it," Carol said. "Not unless you got something to compare it to."

"When he don't do it like that she don't move around so much," Daryl said. "Stays still. Don't go off afterward and lay down. Just goes off normal to mind her business. That's what'cha comparin' it too."

Carol laughed.

"Sounds like that could be the dull way," Carol said. "And—I'm going to be laying down anyway. So are you. We gotta sleep sometime. Besides—you said before we could do what I want. And that's what I want."

"Don't wanna hurt you," Daryl said.

"Then I'll tell you if you do," Carol said. "And then you won't."

As if to illustrate her point, she pushed the cover off of both of them and assumed the position that she thought best suited what she had in mind. Daryl swallowed. They'd done a number of things—but most everything they'd done involved him facing her in some way. He hadn't ever suggested, before, fucking his wife like she was an animal.

But he had promised her that he'd do what she wanted—and it seemed that's what she wanted.

Daryl assumed the position, behind her, that seemed most fitting to him and, lining them up, he pushed himself into her as deep as he could. She moved, readjusting her position.

"You sure about this?" Daryl asked. "You already buckin' about."

"That's not always a bad thing," Carol informed him. "But I'm sure that something should be happenin' by now."

Daryl started by setting a slow and easy pace, not entirely sure that she wasn't going to change her mind any minute, but Carol's urgings that he change things to be harder and faster—and to suit her more—soon had him forgetting to control himself in any way. He went with what felt right—and she didn't seem to complain too much herself. He stopped a second when she changed her position, folding her elbows to lean her face down against the bed, but he picked up again when she urged him to do just that. And the change, whether or not it did anything for her, just made everything feel even better to Daryl and drove him to get to his own finish faster than he might have before.

When Daryl finished, Carol raised up and changed her position so that she was sitting with her back against him. He kissed her back and shoulders while he struggled to catch his breath, and she turned her face to offer her cheek to him for more of the kisses that he planted there and at the corner of her mouth. He held her like that for several moments, relishing the holding her against him—their skin wet, though it was no longer with bathwater—before he finally let her go to get comfortable in the bed.

Settling down next to him, Carol moved her face close to his and nuzzled him.

"I don't think the cows hate it," Carol said, her breathing still a little ragged.

Daryl laughed to himself, his own breath not much more under control than hers.

"That your way a' sayin' you didn't?" Daryl asked.

It was Carol's turn to laugh then.

"You didn't," Carol asserted.

"Didn't ask you about me," Daryl said.

"I didn't," Carol breathed out. "And..."

"And?" Daryl pressed when she fell off speaking.

"And I think I could see how it's the kinda service that would take," Carol said.

Daryl snorted.

"Damn cows might be onto somethin'," Daryl responded.

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 **AN: Through all my research on this story, I've learned a lot of very interesting things from a lot of very interesting sources. I now know, though, more about the mating practices of cows than I ever thought I'd need to know, especially when breeding for herd-building. LOL**


	18. Chapter 18

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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When the summer was on its way and starting to settle around them, Daryl took the winter wheat to market. As promised, it brought a much greater income than the spring wheat had brought and, finally, Daryl seemed to be able to breathe easier.

Merle offered Daryl cheaper labor than any other worker might. For enough money to buy pussy and whisky on his days off, Merle would work a full week. With Hershel and Jo keeping him housed and fed, he had little need to buy anything else. So Daryl put his brother to work.

The cabin was going up—one way or another—before winter fell on them and forced them all into the lull that being half-frozen caused everyone and everything. So Daryl poured all the extra time and energy that he could scrape together into working toward that goal. If he wasn't taking care of the other ins and outs of the farm, he was working on the cabin.

Despite the good income that the wheat brought, Carol had kept her job at the general store. In the mornings, she would get up to do her chores before Daryl even woke. Then she'd prepare his breakfast and make sure he was fed and ready to start his day. As soon as he was out the door, Carol would have her own breakfast and leave something for the midday meal that both her husband and brother-in-law could enjoy. Sure that everything was done and ready for her to go, Carol would saddle Jubilee and head to town with Toby, once he was finally big enough to keep up and understand that his job was to follow her, running along beside the horse.

Carol earned her ten cents an hour doing a variety of jobs around the general store. Mr. Wagner had seen fit to leave many of the decisions to Carol, and she handled the stock as well as the books while Mr. Wagner mostly stayed around to chat with the customers and stand in as a figurehead for the store. He took to Toby from the first day that the dog accompanied Carol, and because the dog was so well tempered, he let him sleep in the corner of the store on a few scrap rugs. Mr. Wagner boasted to everyone that Toby was the official store dog and he was there to greet them all. And for his work, Toby earned a treat at the end of each day that Mr. Wagner fed him before Carol rode back toward home.

In her free time, Carol had stopped by the schoolhouse and borrowed books. What had started as something that would simply help her kill some of the quiet moments of the day—reading her way through a school primer—had led to Carol slowly working her way through every book that the local teacher had to offer.

Carol devoured them one after another at a pace that seemed to shock the schoolteacher.

In her own youth, Carol had loved school but hadn't had the chance to finish it. Her teacher had left before she could get too far and they'd never found anyone to replace her. The small town that Carol had called home didn't think it was all that important that the children kept up with book learning beyond some reading and some ciphering, so they'd eventually simply gone the route of closing the school.

It hadn't mattered, though, because by then Carol was married. And married women, she'd been taught then, had no need for learning. It was especially true since her husband certainly hadn't seen a need for learning much of anything.

But things with Daryl were different.

Carol had learned that Daryl didn't know much in the way of books. He could read a little, as long as the words were small and time was abundant. He could, however, cipher well enough that he could handle numbers in his head that impressed Carol. A pencil and paper in his hand, though, and he couldn't well demonstrate what his brain was capable of doing. Still, he didn't find book learning to be useless or insulting when someone else was doing it—he simply had never done it himself. But he liked to be read to, and he appreciated when Carol would sit at the table at night and read to him, from whatever book she had, after he'd eaten his supper.

Daryl didn't have much use for reading and writing. Most of what he knew, he stored up in his brain and he never felt the need to write it down—if he could write it at all, which Carol wasn't so sure about. He was good enough at storing it up, too, that he had very little need of going back to learn it again. Once it was in his head, Daryl had a way of holding onto it.

Everything that Daryl wanted to learn, he learned with a thirst. Anything anyone wanted to teach him about the farm—or anything he might could do with the farm—he consumed in something akin to a frenzy. He gobbled up information about what they would do, and what he planned to do, and he shared it all with Carol over their meals. And then, when it was time to rest, he let her read to him.

Daryl liked that Carol was learning. She heard him telling Merle about it when Merle came around to work. Daryl seemed proud of her learning. It was as though her learning was his triumph over something. His wife could read as good as anyone could—every bit as good as Hershel. His wife could cipher as good as if she worked at the bank. She could write, in Daryl's mind, clearer than even the press could print the paper that she sometimes brought to read to him when Mr. Wagner was done with reading it.

So Daryl fully supported her when she told him that the schoolteacher, Ms. Sutton, had asked her if she was interested in taking the tests that went with the books she read—just the same as if she were a student—so that she could say that she'd completed school as well as anybody else had. Carol, honestly, had been afraid to take them. She'd been afraid that she'd fail at them and then she'd be left with nothing more than the necessity of facing the facts that she wasn't as clever as she thought she was—and she was every bit as dull as she'd been told she was before. But Daryl had convinced her that it was a good idea. She'd read the books and she knew what she read. She wouldn't fail the tests. He'd promised her that. And if she did? It wouldn't change anything, because she'd still be the smartest person that he knew, and she'd still earn ten cents on the hour for all the work she did at the store.

She had nothing to lose and a good deal of bragging rights to gain.

In the end, too, Daryl had given Carol the confidence to take the tests. She left work early on the days she went to take the tests and, leaving Jubilee tied outside and keeping Toby under the desk where she worked, Carol filled out her papers in the quiet schoolhouse that children had abandoned some time before.

One by one, and a good deal quicker than she would have done it as a child, Carol moved through the grades. Finally, the day came when Carol was able to say that she had completed school. She knew all that she could know, too, because she'd read every book that Ms. Sutton had to offer her. And some of them, even, she'd read more than once.

Carol was proud the day that she came home, and having brushed Jubilee down and put her out to graze, told Daryl that she'd finished all the tests that she had to take—the fastest that Ms. Sutton said anybody ever had—and she'd finished school.

But it was Daryl who'd looked the proudest. And he'd worn that pride clear through eating his supper that night. The look on his face, really, made Carol feel prouder of herself than just knowing what she'd accomplished.

"You could do it to, you know, Daryl," Carol insisted. "If you wanted to. All you gotta do is read the books and I could get Ms. Sutton to give you the tests."

Daryl shook his head at her and worked at sopping up everything left on his plate with one of the biscuits she'd made.

"I ain't cut out for that stuff," Daryl told her. "I mean I don't know nothin' about all that stuff."

"I didn't either," Carol reminded. "Not most of it. Not until I read the books. I didn't just— _know_ it. Not all by myself." She shook her head at him. "Really there was nothing I ever knew until I did."

"I can't even read all them books," Daryl said, his mouth full of biscuit. "Not without you helpin' me. I know what you read me, but I couldn't read it on my own." He laughed to himself and coughed around a piece of the biscuit that he must have gotten sucked back in his throat. He washed it down with some of the water that he was drinking. "Hell—couldn't write the tests neither. My writin's just a step above makin' my mark."

"I could teach you that," Carol said. "I know what there is to know now, Daryl. I know all the stuff that Ms. Sutton knows. I could teach you about reading and writing. Right here at the table. Every night we just do a little bit. And eventually? You'd know how to do it all too, Daryl. The reading and the writing. And you could take the tests."

Daryl studied his empty plate long enough that Carol finally offered him something more to eat. He shook his head.

"Was just thinkin'," Daryl said.

"You want to tell me about what?" Carol asked. "Or it isn't any of my concern?"

"If I didn't learn it all, and I didn't take them tests," Daryl said, "would it bother you? That I didn't know all them things that you know? Would you—hate to be married to me 'cause I didn't know it and you was knowin', all along, just how much I didn't know?"

Carol shook her head at Daryl.

"I could never hate being married to you," Carol said. "I promise you that. I haven't hated it a day since we got married. And I just don't see a way that I would wake up some morning and decide that I did. I thought you might like takin' the tests because you seem so proud that I took 'em. That I—got all the education I could get. I thought you might want that kinda pride for yourself. But—I'm gonna love you just the same, Daryl, whether you can ever write more than your own name or not."

"Proud of you 'cause it made you happy," Daryl said. "And you done it. Even though you was tired sometimes, you still done it because it's what you wanted to do. But I don't want'cha bein' ashamed of me 'cause you got a husband that don't know nothin'."

Carol reached her hand across the table and rested it on Daryl's.

"You know how to double up the cows we got in a year," Carol said. "How to—build us a real good house that anybody in town's going to be jealous of. You know how to—get the wheat in the ground at just the right time to have it growin' like weeds for harvests." Carol shrugged her shoulders at him. "You know how to be the best kinda husband that anybody could ever have. And I don't count those things among knowing nothing, Daryl. I count them just as important as anything I read outta any of those books."

A hint of a smile appeared that just barely turned up the corners of Daryl's lips. He nodded his head at her.

"By winter we might be in that house," Daryl said. "Maybe we don't spend the whole winter there, but we'll spend at least part of it there. It won't be near as nice as what Hershel and Miss Jo got, but it'll be nice enough. We can work on it. Make it better. But it's somewhere to start."

Carol smiled at him and nodded her head.

"As long as it's warm enough to get us through the winter, Daryl, it'll be good enough for me," Carol promised him. "And I know you're building it nice for us. I know how much—how much care you're putting into it."

"Gonna be our home," Daryl said. "Supposed to be."

Carol laughed to herself.

"And it will be," Carol said. "Just like this house. There's nothing wrong it, either, you know? It's a home. But so will be that house. Just bigger. Anywhere we go, Daryl, it'll be our home. Long as we're there together. I could live in the barn, Daryl. Sleep in there with Nugget and Jubilee. With Toby and Shadow. Just as long as you were there? And I believe I could be happy. I believe it could be a home, if we needed it to be."

Daryl shrugged his shoulders gently. Carol had learned, by now, that it was his way to say that he was thinking about something. That there was something he wasn't saying. He wouldn't say what it was, either, until he was good and ready to come out with it.

Whether he came out with the whole of it or not, Carol couldn't be sure, but it didn't take him long to speak again.

"Might be havin' us some kids one day," Daryl said. "Couple young'uns. This house ain't big enough for us all. The new house, though—it oughta be pretty big. If it ain't—we can make it bigger. But to start? It oughta be pretty big."

Carol swallowed and nodded her head. She squeezed her fingers around Daryl's arm.

"It'll be plenty big," she assured him. "It'll be just right. Come on, Daryl—let's get ready for bed. I finished school today, after all, and I think that calls for some kind of _present_ , don't you?"

Daryl looked at her with question in his eyes.

"Don't got nothin' for you," Daryl said. "What'd you want?"

Carol smiled at him.

"Just you," Carol said. "I think that's present enough. At least for me."

Daryl laughed to himself and put his hands on the table to push himself up.

"You got that," he said. "Any time you want it."


	19. Chapter 19

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **Trigger warning and a note about trigger warnings here.**

 **There is discussion of abortion and abortion practices in a few chapters of this story. This is one of them. It's not graphic, but it is mentioned/alluded to in this chapter. During the time period when this story takes place (roughly between 1880 and 1890 in keeping with the research I've been doing), condoms were available as a source of birth control. However their availability and use depended on a number of factors. Alternative methods of birth control were also in use (believed to be both successful and unsuccessful according to the women who had been interviewed in one study that I read), and sex workers had a number of methods for ending unwanted pregnancies that resulted from their profession.**

 **Given Carol's profession in the story, these things will be discussed/alluded to. I will provide a trigger warning on each of those chapters, and I will try to give you an idea of how in-depth things could be.**

 **I still recommend, if you're triggered by this (and especially if you're quite sensitive to the topic) that you read those chapters with some caution and preparation.**

 **This chapter has some mention of these things, but there's nothing in detail beyond speculation that these were possibly practices that were in place during the era.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"I'm tellin' you, brother," Merle insisted. "They got some kinda way a' holdin' it back."

They were finishing up the cabin. These were the final touches. By the time Carol got home, Daryl would be ready to take her inside and show her, for the first time, the new house that they'd be calling home. It would be ready, just like Daryl promised, for them to spend the winter in it.

The very last thing they had to put in was brought special by wagon from town and Merle had gone to pick it up for Daryl. It had cost enough money that Daryl had very nearly felt light headed making the purchase, but it was going to be worth it when Carol saw it. And he'd worked hard to keep it a secret so it would be a grand surprised.

And when they finally got it set up in the house, the cook stove looked as fine in their kitchen as any had ever looked in any kitchen.

"They don't got no damn way a' holdin' it back," Daryl said. "Don't make sense. If they did? You think they'd be any of them surprise ones?"

Merle laughed.

"That's 'cause whores know things that not-whores don't know, Daryl," Merle argued. "You think on it. You tell me. You ever seen a whore what was full up with a kid?"

Daryl stood wiping his forehead. Despite the chill in the air that hinted at a winter that was coming for them, the work he'd done that day had worked up a sweat. He considered Merle's question carefully before he finally responded to his brother who was half-grinning at him while he awaited confirmation that he was correct.

"Can't say that I have," Daryl admitted. "But that don't mean nothin' neither 'cause I ain't sure I seen too many whores outside of Eden an' I didn't see a whole lotta whores when we was there."

"There's enough of 'em," Merle said. "Believe me—I seen plenty."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"How the hell would you know?" Daryl asked. "You don't buy none of 'em except Andrea an' I know it."

"Fits me just right," Merle said. "But I seen the others, Daryl. I know they there. An' you ain't gonna see not a one of 'em nowhere all heavy with a kid. It's 'cause they can hold 'em back some way."

Daryl sighed.

"Say they can, Merle," Daryl ceded. "Say they can hold 'em back. Still don't mean nothin' to me. 'Cause Carol ain't no whore no more. An' besides—she wouldn't be holdin' 'em back on me 'cause we're married."

"You married," Merle said. "But if she was to drop you a young'un...you think you'd be keen on her ridin' back an' forth into town ever' day? Shakin' your kid out on the road?"

Daryl frowned at his brother.

"You know not," Daryl said.

"Then you done got your answer," Merle said. "She's holdin' back 'cause she knows that soon as she lets one come on? She can't go back an' forth. Can't keep workin' in town like you lettin' her work now."

Daryl swallowed. He shook his head at Merle.

"She wouldn't do that," Daryl said.

"She's doin' it," Merle said. "That or she's done shakin' your kid out. Could be kids. Hell—you don't know. Don't got no idea how that shit works. That shit's whore magic. Could be shakin' your damn kids out all up an' down the road between here an' town. But she ain't gonna throw you no pup. Not never. 'Cause as soon as she do? She knows you ain't gonna want her trottin' back an' forth like she do."

Daryl shook his head at Merle.

"It just ain't took yet," Daryl said. "That's all it is. Ain't nothin' took yet."

"Then either you ain't doin' it right," Merle said. "Or she's holdin' back."

Daryl shook his head once more.

"You wrong," Daryl asserted. "You don't know what the hell you talkin' about, and you wrong!"

"You married a whore, Daryl," Merle said. "An' she might not be no whore no more. You mighta turned her into a wife, but she knows whore things."

"That ain't no whore thing to know," Daryl said. "'Cause it ain't no real damn thing. Some shit you made up. Some load of horse shit that'cha made up!"

Merle held his hands out in surrender and laughed at Daryl.

"Don't get pissed off at me, lil' brotha, for tellin' you the gospel truth," Merle said. "You don't believe me—reckon you ask Hershel 'bout it. Bet'cha he ain't never seen no whore all filled up with a young'un neither."

"Just the hell what I'ma do," Daryl said. "An' then you gonna know it too that'cha don't know shit, Merle. Don't know a damn thing!"

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Daryl couldn't quite have put a description on Hershel's facial expression as the man stood there shredding a piece of grass between his cracked fingers and chewing on the story that Daryl had just told him. But if he had to put a description on it? He might have said that Hershel looked _concerned._

Except Daryl wasn't sure if he was concerned because he was considering the truth that Merle had told Daryl, or if he was concerned because he was considering the load of horse shit that his brother had dumped on him.

He did know, though, that if Hershel didn't open his mouth soon and set it straight—one way or the other—Daryl was going to lose his cool from just standing there and waiting.

"Well?" Daryl finally pressed.

Hershel sucked in a breath and then laughed to himself.

"Well I've never seen a whore that was pregnant," Hershel said. "But I've only seen a limited amount of whores in my life. You see—I married young and neither my first wife, nor my second, was particularly fond of the idea of me visitin' houses of ill-repute."

Hershel offered Daryl a knowing half-smile. Daryl ceded that, perhaps, his wives wouldn't be so keen on him visiting houses like the one where Carol had lived before. But he knew, too, that Hershel just had a way of knowing things. He'd been collecting up his knowledge, after all, for some time.

"Can they hold 'em back some way?" Daryl asked.

Hershel sucked his teeth and shook his head.

"I don't think that's possible, Daryl," Hershel said. "Cows can't hold 'em back. Chickens. Pigs. Cats and dogs. It doesn't make much sense to me that women would be able to hold them back neither. If they could, I imagine there'd be a lot less people in the world."

Daryl's chest was tight from waiting for a response and he felt it loosen a little to hear that Hershel seemed to think about things the same way that he did.

"Can they shake out your kid?" Daryl asked. "If they don't wanna have 'em?"

"Not that I'm aware of, Daryl," Hershel said. "Once they're in there, they're in there. Of course—there are things that can happen. A woman who's expecting a child _could_ lose the child. It sometimes happens but—usually you'd know about it if it's not too early for her to even know she was carrying it."

"But not on purpose?" Daryl asked.

"I've heard that there are certain things they can drink," Hershel said. "Things that could force the child to come on out early. But those are measures that they'd have to want to take. They'd have to want to rid themselves of a pregnancy, Daryl. It don't just happen, say, on the road between here and town."

"I ain't never seen Carol drink nothin' more'n water and coffee," Daryl said. "Sometimes she'll have a lil' milk of a morning. When it's fresh."

Hershel laughed to himself.

"None of those things are going to wash out a child, Daryl, if she were carrying one," Hershel assured him. "Is it just your brother what's got you so concerned all of a sudden?"

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"Just seems like—there oughta be a young'un by now," Daryl said. "Merle's right. There's been plenty a' time for one to make. An'—well...I think there's been plenty a' chance for it to take."

"I see," Hershel said.

"Unless we ain't doin' it right," Daryl offered. "But—I think we're doin' it right. Carol seems to think we are and...I figured she'd be the one to know."

"It's not so tricky that you're likely to not be doing it right," Hershel offered. "Especially not if Carol hasn't said anything about it."

"Unless she just don't tell me 'cause she was plannin' on gettin' rid of it," Daryl said.

Hershel raised an eyebrow at Daryl.

"Son, that's a pretty strong accusation you're at risk of makin' against your wife," Hershel said. "You got cause for thinking that of her? Or you're just listening to Merle?" Daryl felt scolded by the old man's words—and that was mostly owing to the fact that he knew he had no reason to suddenly feel even half as suspicious as Merle had stirred him into feeling. "Has Carol ever said to you that she doesn't want to bear your children?"

Daryl shook his head.

"Said we was gonna have kids," Daryl said. "Bunch of 'em."

"So why would you believe, for even a minute, that she was lying?" Hershel asked. "It's been my experience that a woman who doesn't lie in general, doesn't just up and start lyin' about somethin' like her family."

"We don't got none," Daryl said.

"Children take their time," Hershel said. "All of mine surely did."

"You sure that'cha don't think she's holdin' back on 'em?" Daryl asked.

"I'm certain that I don't believe she can," Hershel said. "Even if she didn't want them...she could still be pregnant. That's just nature, Daryl. You see it every day."

Daryl nodded his head at Hershel.

"You think I oughta—do somethin'? Somethin' different? Somethin' special?" Daryl asked.

Hershel laughed again and sighed.

"I don't know what to tell you, Daryl," Hershel said. "If it's going to happen, it'll happen. One thing I can tell you, though, is that runnin' around after her with Merle's foolishness won't help you at all. Worryin' makes a woman sickly. And sickly women don't bear healthy children—if they bear them at all."

"So don't worry her?" Daryl asked.

"Don't worry her any more'n you have to," Hershel said. "Because a certain amount of worry—well, it's hard to avoid."

"But I been workin' to make her happy," Daryl said. "Not to worry her."

"Then keep on doing that," Hershel said. "And the rest'll come. Right when it's time."

"That stove I bought her oughta make her real happy," Daryl said. "She don't gotta cook outside at all with it. Put the wood right there an' she can cook right in the kitchen."

"You just might be on to somethin'," Hershel said. He sucked in a breath and dropped the piece of grass that was almost shredded to the point of non-existence. "You just keep doin' what you're doin', Daryl. And sooner or later? Carol'll be cooking something more'n your supper. I'm sure of that."

Daryl nodded his head and Hershel clasped him on the shoulder, squeezing hard enough that Daryl had to grit his teeth not to flinch away from the feeling of it.

"You right," Daryl ceded. "I'ma keep doin' what I'm doin'. Not gonna worry her. At least—now I know she can't be shakin' 'em out or...or holdin' 'em back or nothin' like that."

Hershel laughed to himself and shook his head at Daryl.

"And stop worryin' yourself while you're at it," Hershel said. "You're doin' alright with your life. Enjoy what you've got. More will come when it's supposed to come. And—for heaven's sake, Daryl, don't listen to Merle. He doesn't have enough real knowledge about anything to fill a flea's nose."

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"Keep 'em closed, woman," Daryl said, leading Carol into the house with his hands on her shoulders. "You gonna ruin it if you don't."

"I've got 'em closed," Carol responded. "Just don't—don't let me fall over anything, Daryl."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You figured out the whole damn surprise already," Daryl said, readjusting her so that one of the first things she'd see was the cook stove that had cost more than thirty dollars. He wanted her reaction to be so grand that he could be sure that it was worth every dollar. "I brung you in here just to throw you on the damn floor."

"What's the real secret, Daryl?" Carol asked. "You know I been sneakin' looks around the house. I know what it looks like."

"You don't know everything," Daryl said. "You got 'em closed?" He walked around her to see that her eyes were, in fact, closed. He waved his hand in front of them and Carol laughed. "You lookin'?" Daryl asked.

"No," Carol responded.

"Then what you got to be laughin' about?" Daryl asked.

"I know you're doing something, Daryl," Carol said. "I'm not lookin' because you said not to do it, but I can see shadows. I know you're doin' something."

Daryl sighed and moved out of her line of sight.

"Open 'em up," Daryl said.

Carol opened her eyes and gasped. Wide-eyed, she looked around her at their new house. Daryl watched her and he saw the exact moment that her eyes fell on the stove. She took a couple of steps in the direction of it before she put her hand over her mouth and shook her head.

"Daryl, no!" She exclaimed. "It's too expensive!"

"If it was too expensive," Daryl told her, "then I wouldn'ta bought it. I'm sure we can afford it. But—if you don't make me feel like it was worth buyin'—then I don't know if we can keep it."

Carol turned to look at him and Daryl's heart did the odd, tight squeezing that she could sometimes bring about in him. There were clearly tears in her eyes. He had figured that she was going to be happy about it, but he hadn't figured that she was going to start tearing up on him. Her mouth slowly followed suit with her eyes and it wasn't long until she didn't look happy at all. She looked like she was damn near miserable.

But before Daryl could say anything to her about it, she rushed toward him and he caught her as she wrapped her arms around him and nearly wrapped her whole self around him right along with them.

And just like that, she was sobbing.

Daryl rubbed her back with his hand and stood there holding her against him. He was entirely unsure what he should be doing and he had no idea how he'd broken her in the first place.

"You was supposed to be happy," Daryl said. "I thought—it'd make you happy. You don't gotta cook outside no more. No cookin' over the fire where you sometimes was gettin' burned. Now—the wood goes in there, Carol. You just—cook right in here." Carol continued to sob against Daryl's chest. "Supposed to be a happy thing, Carol. Man down at the hardware—when he sold it to me? Said it was a lucky wife what had one. Said you was gonna be the happiest wife they was when I bought it." Carol wiped her face on Daryl's chest by scrubbing it back and forth against his shirt. She practically shook in his arms and he felt desperate to understand what he'd done wrong. "You don't like it that bad—I'm sure he'll take it back. I ain't even lit it or nothin'."

"I love it," Carol said, her voice muffled by the fact that her face was pressed into Daryl's chest. She tightened her hold on him. "I love it...I love it...It's perfect, Daryl."

"You got the oddest damn way of showin' it," Daryl said.

Carol pulled away from him some, but she was still shaking. Daryl could feel the tremors as they coursed through her body. She wiped at her face with the shaking hand that she wasn't using to hold onto Daryl.

"It's perfect," Carol said. "The stove is perfect, Daryl. The house—is _perfect_."

Continuing her practice of having the oddest ways of showing her appreciation over the new house and the stove that Daryl had put in there, large tears rolled down Carol's face that she stopped with her already wet hand.

"It don't got furniture in it yet," Daryl said. "I know it don't. But tomorrow—we gonna move what's in the old house over here. Gonna move it all in here. It'll look different, then, when it's got the furniture in it. And—I was lookin' over our money, Carol. We got some to spare. Some I thought I was gonna spend an' I didn't. Figured—we could go into town tomorrow. You an' me. Take a wagon. An' you don't gotta be workin' tomorrow sellin' stuff to other people 'cause you gonna be buyin' some stuff for the house. Stuff you wanna put in here that we don't got already." Carol nodded her head. She kept nodding her head, up and down, but she didn't have the tears under control yet. "You sure you happy?" Daryl asked. "'Cause you don't look happy. It's the oddest sort of bein' happy I ever seen from you."

"I don't deserve this," Carol said. "I don't deserve any of this."

"The hell you talkin' about?" Daryl asked. "Carol—this is the house I told you I was gonna build you. The house I was wantin' to bring you to from the first time I was thinkin' about it. This is that house. I built it for you. You the only one it was ever meant for."

"It's too much," Carol said. She looked at Daryl and shook her head. "It's too nice. It's too much."

Daryl laughed to himself and shook his head.

"We bein' honest? It ain't enough," Daryl said. "Ain't near what I wanted to give you. But—I can make it better. Gimme time? I'ma make it better. But for now? I reckon it'll do. You reckon it'll do?"

Carol shook her head at him again.

"I don't deserve this," Carol repeated. "I don't. I don't deserve this. Not any of it. Not the house...or the stove. I don't deserve you, Daryl."

Daryl swallowed, feeling a little overwhelmed at the moment, and shook his head.

"Ain't nobody deserves it but you," Daryl said. "And—I don't know if you deserve me or not but hell...I ain't no prize." He laughed to himself.

Carol nodded her head.

"You are," Carol said. "You are to me...and I don't deserve you because—you could've married someone so much _better_ for you, Daryl. Someone who woulda deserved a house like this."

Daryl laughed to himself. He couldn't figure anything else to do in the moment except laugh to counter her tears—which were slowly drying up.

"It was built for you, Carol," Daryl said. "So I don't reckon there's nobody what could deserve somethin' that's yours more'n you do."

Daryl reached his hand up and used his palm to mop at Carol's face. When he found that his skin wasn't as absorbent as he wanted it to be, he burrowed in his back pocket and came out with the handkerchief that he carried around with him. It wasn't as clean as he wished it was, since he'd been using it most of the day to wipe sweat, but it was better than nothing. He used it to wipe her cheeks clean. He laughed to himself and looked at the cloth.

"I'll save you the sufferin' of wipin' your nose with it," Daryl said. "It don't smell like no rose. That's for damn sure. Been wipin' my face an' neck with it all day."

Carol offered him the first smile that she'd given him since she'd seen the house. It was a smile through tears, and looked a little pulled in one direction or another, but it was a smile just the same.

"I can't believe you did all this for me," Carol said.

"Didn't," Daryl said. "Done it for us. An' it ain't done yet. Tomorrow—we'll go to town. Get some nice things, Carol, to put in here. Won't have to buy it on credit, neither. Pay cash for it. Right on the spot 'fore we load it up in the wagon. Then we'll see about movin' everything over from the house. Get settled in proper."

Carol nodded her head at him.

"But tonight," Carol said, "I'll fix you your supper. And you'll get some rest. You gotta be tired, Daryl." Daryl shrugged his shoulders gently and nodded his head at Carol. She bit her lip and stared at him until it almost made him uncomfortable. She brought her hands up and caught his face, holding it between her hands. The frown returned that she'd worn before and Daryl feared she might just break into tears again. Luckily, though, she seemed to have control of it this time. "I love you," Carol said softly.

Daryl swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling swollen. He nodded his head, not hard enough to shake her hands off too.

"Love you too," he offered.

Carol sucked in a deep breath that made her chest rise dramatically.

"I know," she said. She raised herself up just a little and offered Daryl a kiss. He enjoyed it and returned it right back. Without planning on it, he moved forward, pressing himself into her and she backed up to keep herself from tipping over. She pulled away from him, laughing quietly at how close she'd come to spilling to the floor. She offered him another smile—this time more genuine than the one before—and she patted his cheek. "Come on," she said. "Let's get your supper."


	20. Chapter 20

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl had ducked into the store only long enough to shake the hand of the man that employed Carol and make sure that he was fine with her missing a day of work. Mr. Wagner didn't seem too bothered, though, by Carol's absence—especially in light of the fact that she intended to purchase some things and, therefore, return to him some of the money that she'd slowly earned.

Whether the money came from the wheat or whether it came from Carol's job, it was impossible for Daryl to know. All their money went together, just as it should, and whatever they needed came from the whole of their earnings. They had decided, together, that was the best way to handle things. Then there was no need for wondering who had earned each penny that they had to spend.

Everything was simply theirs.

When the winter wheat sold, Daryl had put aside an amount that he thought was fair for the expenses of building the house and paying Hershel back for what he'd borrowed in advance for the work that he had to do. They would furnish their home with what furniture they already had—and what they didn't have? Daryl could build most of it and they could save for the rest. The money that came in from the spring wheat immediately went back into the farm—and the future harvest of winter wheat was already in the ground with Daryl having put a little time into expanding their fields by half an acre.

They were, for the first time in a good while, comfortable enough with money that Daryl felt like he could breathe.

So Daryl wanted Carol to spend what was left of the money that had been put aside for building their home. He wanted her to buy whatever things it was a woman needed to feel happy and comfortable in her home. He'd handed it all over to her without even counting it and he'd borrowed Hershel's wagon, prepared to take home a haul that the horses might very well struggle to pull through the muddy streets of town.

He was surprised, then, while standing outside the general store enjoying a cigarette that he'd rolled from a pouch of tobacco that he'd bought for himself, when Carol emerged from the store with so few purchases that she was having no problem carrying them on her own.

Daryl didn't move from his position for a moment and he watched as Carol looked for him after she'd put her purchases in the back of the wagon and patted the heads of the two dogs that were riding back there. He whistled at her when she looked around for him and a smile spread across her face as soon as she saw him.

"Aren't you scared somebody's gonna take the wagon?" Carol asked.

"With Nugget tied and me less'n six feet away?" Daryl asked. "Ain't likely to happen. Where's the rest? You need me to go in for it?"

Carol shook her head.

"There isn't anymore. I got—cloth for curtains. Oh, it's beautiful, Daryl. I know you say you don't care about those things, but it's beautiful and you're gonna think so too," Carol insisted.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I'm glad the curtains make you happy," Daryl said. "But—I give you a pretty decent amount of money, Carol. Curtains cost that much?"

Carol's cheeks ran pink. Daryl could see the change in color even from the short distance between them. He finished his cigarette and flicked it into the street before he crossed over to where Carol was and leaned against the wagon.

"No," Carol said. "Not hardly. I got needles and thread too. A few other things."

"An' that finished it up?" Daryl asked.

Carol shook her head again.

"I was—hoping to go to the hardware?" Carol asked. "Get a chamber pot? A washboard that ain't broken?"

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"That ain't hardly nothin'," Daryl said. "Coulda bought that any day that'cha told me you needed it."

Carol shook her head at him.

"I don't need a lot of things, Daryl," Carol said. "And maybe—one day? We need somethin' more than what we got, but today we just don't need nothing else." She frowned at him and Daryl wasn't sure it was a sincere frown or if she was simply mimicking his facial expression. "We'll put the money back," Carol said. "And it'll be there, then, if we need it. For the house or—whatever we might need it for. OK?"

Daryl nodded his head and put a hand out to catch her arm. He tugged her with him to walk her around the back of the wagon and help her onto the side where she'd be riding.

"To the hardware, I reckon," Daryl said. "Get'cha whatever you need there—and we could do with another pail."

Carol frowned at him as soon as she was in the wagon.

"You're not angry, are you?" Carol asked. "Because I said we didn't need more than we got?"

Daryl laughed to himself. He couldn't help it. Her concern was so strong he could almost smell it and he realized that half the men in the whole town would give their teeth to hear their wife say she didn't need to spend the money that they'd given her.

Daryl leaned on the wagon and looked at her. He shook his head.

"I ain't mad," he said. "But—you gotta promise me that...if it's somethin' you need? Or even—even somethin' that's somethin' you been wantin'? You gonna tell me. You ain't gonna hold out an' feel sorry you don't got it."

Carol shook her head.

"Wouldn't," she said. "But—I do want the chamber pot. And the washboard."

Daryl laughed and nodded his head.

"That's just what the hell we're goin' to get," he promised.

He crossed in front of the wagon, in front of the horses, and took a moment to pet each of them on the head and encourage them—in case they needed it—because they were doing so well pulling the wagon and they weren't all that accustomed to being driven as a team. He figured, even if they didn't need it, a little encouragement couldn't hurt. Horses, after all, he figured could get their feelings hurt if they weren't recognized for the work they were doing.

Daryl untied the horses and got into the driver's seat of the wagon. The hardware was close enough that they could have walked there, but they might as well ride since they weren't leaving their wagon unattended at any rate.

At this hour, the streets were mostly abandoned. Most people, as Hershel would point out to Daryl, had jobs to be doing. If they were in town, it was either because they worked there, or because they were getting something they needed. Still, there were a few people who, like Daryl and Carol, seemed to be taking the day off of work to accomplish things.

As Daryl found a spot to tie the wagon, he saw another couple getting off a wagon of their own. Their wagon was loaded with a few more items—some boxes and such—than Daryl and Carol's, but they appeared to simply be a married couple out making purchases with their young child. The man threw up a hand in Daryl's direction as he tied his wagon and then he spoke over the short distance that divided them.

"I'm in your way?" He asked.

"No," Daryl said, shaking his head. "We fine right here. Just runnin' in for a couple things."

"I can get them, Daryl," Carol said quickly. "Won't take but just a minute. I can get a pail too."

"You gonna need me to carry it all," Daryl said.

Carol shook her head at him.

"I can carry it," she promised. "Or I can get the keeper to help me. Stay with the wagon? I won't be but a minute."

Daryl hesitated, but finally agreed. He nodded his acceptance of Carol's proposal and walked around to the back of the wagon for a moment to make sure that there was nothing he needed to move out of the way. Hershel had left a few small items in the back, but it was nothing that really took up too much space. While he was back there, Toby and Shadow demanded his attention and then acted like him offering them both a pat on the head was the greatest gift that he could give to either of them.

"Excuse me..."

Daryl nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the voice close to him. He wasn't expecting anyone to approach him. When he turned, though, at the sound of some quick and repeated apologies made for startling him, Daryl found that it was only the wife of the man who had asked if his wagon was in the way. The man, Daryl assumed, had gone into the hardware without her.

"You needin' something?" Daryl asked.

The woman gestured to the small boy that was holding her hand.

"He was just wondering if he could see your dogs," the woman offered.

Daryl looked at the little boy and nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah. They good dogs. Friendly with just about everyone—except they don't like it when you come up on 'em and they ain't expectin' you. Trained 'em like that on purpose. Keeps people off the farm. They even bark at people they know when they ridin' up..." Daryl stopped himself and nipped at a bit of skin on his thumb to plug up the words that were getting away from him. "You ain't need to know all that."

The woman smiled at him.

"His name is William," she said, gesturing at the boy. "Can you help him?" Daryl nodded at her and she urged the little boy forward. "Go on, William. He's going to show you his dogs."

Daryl offered his hands out to the boy and lifted him with more force than was necessary for a boy who weighed as little as he did. He lifted the boy over the back of the wagon and put him down where the dogs could see him. Both of them—easily recognizing him as "friend" because Daryl put him back there—launched themselves at the boy and made a great deal of effort to lick his face. The child squealed at them and touched them both on the head with dirty fingers while they fought over who would get closest to him.

William's mother, standing beside Daryl, laughed at her son's happiness over the animals.

"He so wants a dog," she said.

"If you lookin' for one," Daryl said. "You oughta go out an' see Hershel Greene. They ain't got none right this minute, but they get pups right regular. Where I got these. His wife's the one what gives 'em to people—but if she seen the boy, I reckon she'd give him a pup or two."

"I'm not sure his father would approve," the woman informed Daryl. "Dogs eat far too much."

"Them dogs don't hardly eat too much," Daryl said. "Scraps here an' there. We already feedin' a mess a' hogs. Might as well throw out somethin' to the dogs too. They good on the farm except they got a tendency to run the chickens if they get half a chance."

The woman seemed to think that Daryl's information about well-chased chickens was laughable because she laughed more readily at that than she did at her son's squealing.

Worried that the boy might get overwhelmed with the over-enthusiastic dogs, Daryl lifted the boy back out of the wagon and put his feet on the ground.

"Mean what I said," Daryl said. "They good dogs. An' I just know Miss Jo would give a pup to a boy what wanted one."

"What do you say, William? To the nice man?" The woman asked, bumping the shoulder of the young boy with her hand. In response, the small child offered Daryl a word that he took to mean some kind of thanks and Daryl shrugged his shoulders at the woman.

"Ain't nothin' needs thanking," Daryl said. "I'd let just about anybody pet my dogs if they was nice about it. Toby an' Shadow like it."

"Emma? I see you and William have made friends," the man who had asked about moving his wagon came toward them and held up his hands to show that he was carrying some things. Carol came behind him. "Hope you don't mind," he said, talking to Daryl, "but the lady needed a hand and I didn't see no reason the keep had to help her when I could just bring it out."

Daryl shook his head at the man.

"Appreciate it," he said, reaching to take the purchases from the man. He put them quickly into the back of the wagon. "Woulda gone in myself. Ain't my practice to make her haul things."

The man laughed.

"She told me that too," the man responded. "A couple of times. Jacob Walsby."

Once his hands were empty, the man offered a hand for Daryl to shake and Daryl took it in his.

"Daryl Dixon," Daryl said.

"I've already met Carol," Jacob said.

"An' I met—Emma? Though we weren't quite introduced," Daryl said.

"How very rude of me," Emma said. She shook her head and then addressed her husband. "You know how William is when he sees a dog."

"I was tellin' her that Hershel Greene's got a farm just about ten miles out from here," Daryl said. "They got pups right regular an' I know his wife would give your boy a pup if he was wantin' one."

"They're good dogs," Carol interjected, stepping around them so that she could join the conversation and pass the pail she was carrying to Daryl. He took it and put it in the back with the other items that he'd already relieved Jacob of. "We couldn't do without them."

Daryl didn't know if they could or couldn't do without the dogs, but he knew that they were fond of them and certainly wouldn't want to lose them.

"Do I know you?" Emma asked, addressing Carol.

"I work at the general store," Carol said. "So if you bought anything there? It's more than likely you'da seen me."

Emma smiled and nodded.

"That's where I know you," she said. "And the dog too. With the big black circles around his eyes. I remember him now."

"Toby," Carol said. "He's mine. He goes with me ever'day."

And suddenly it looked like they were old friends. Something in common like the general store, it seemed, could bring women quite close. It wasn't a second later and Carol had launched into telling the woman about her curtains—or rather about the ones that she was going to make—and then she was telling her about the print on the fabric while she prattled on about the windows in the house that she would cover up with the curtains.

Daryl glanced at the man who had taken possession of the boy—William—and saw that he was smiling at both of the women. Like Daryl, though, he had nothing to contribute to a conversation about curtains, so he just stood there waiting for it to pass. And when it did, Jacob spoke again.

"You built the house?" Jacob asked. Daryl nodded his head. "Yourself?"

"I had a lil' help," Daryl said. "From my brother an' another man what works at the Greene farm."

"But Daryl did most of it," Carol interjected quickly.

"I done most of it," Daryl ceded.

"Impressive," Jacob said.

Daryl laughed to himself and shook his head.

"Weren't really nothin'," Daryl said. "Promised her a nice house. It ain't the nicest we gonna have, but it's a start. Hopin' to do somethin' more with it later. After the thaw."

"Newlyweds?" Emma asked.

Daryl shook his head.

"Goin' on our second winter together," Daryl said. "But we doin' alright 'cause neither of us is froze yet."

Both Emma and Jacob found that entertaining.

"I don't believe I could've built our house," Jacob said. "We bought from a man who was moving east. Came here to stake a claim and it hasn't disappointed. Gold."

Daryl nodded his head.

"Staked my claim too," Daryl said. He laughed to himself. "'Cept the gold I got is what grows outta the ground—not what's lookin' to be dug up."

"You have children?" Emma asked. "We've another boy. His name is Jacob as well. My parents came here to stay with us. He didn't want to come to town, so he stayed behind. And we have William. And we're due another before spring."

"Worst time of year to bring one into the world," Jacob said. "But everything happens when it happens."

Daryl swallowed and nodded his head at the couple.

"Nice lookin' boy," he said, gesturing his head toward William. He eyed the woman—trying to search out the evidence that she was expecting a child—but he couldn't see much about her that would've told him that they were having a kid anytime in the near future. "We don't—don't got none yet. But—we gonna. Just—we just don't yet. Not just yet."

Something crossed the faces of both Jacob and Emma. Emma erased her expression faster than her husband did, though, and replaced it with a smile.

"I'm sure you'll have a child very soon," she said. "They're really our greatest blessings."

Daryl wasn't sure how to respond. All of a sudden he felt like he was stuck right where he was standing and he felt like his tongue was stuck in his head right where it lay. Luckily, Carol saved him by quickly tugging at his arm and getting his attention.

"We gotta get back," she said. "Cows'll be needin' fed."

Daryl was a little struck by the statement—mostly because the cows didn't need to be fed—but he was too happy to have something that made him able to move again to contradict Carol's statement. When she tugged on his arm again, it made him even more able to move from his spot and suddenly his tongue found movement once more.

He nodded his head in the direction of Emma and Jacob.

"We gotta be gettin' on back," Daryl said, very nearly echoing Carol word for word. "But—nice meetin' you."

He received the same sentiment from them and moved when Carol tugged at him again. This time, he walked her to her seat on the wagon and offered her a hand to get up. She took it and sat, somewhat rigidly, facing ahead. Jacob and Emma returned to their own wagon and went about loading up to move so that Daryl would have a clear space to maneuver his rig. While he waited, Daryl leaned against the wagon near Carol.

"You needin' anything else from town?" Daryl asked. Carol shook her head at him. "Nothin' else you think you might want?" Carol shook her head again. "You know the cows don't really need fed right now, don't'cha? I ain't feedin' 'em 'til later on. Keep 'em warm when it gets cold later on."

"I know that," Carol said. "But—there's a lot that needs to be done at the farm. And—and we need to get the wagon back to Hershel."

"He wouldn't mind if we kept it," Daryl said. "At least 'til morning. But—if we're gettin' Merle to help us move everything tonight, I guess we best head on back anyway."

Carol nodded her head at him again and Daryl swallowed. There was something wrong with her. There was something on her face that he didn't like. Somehow—even if he wasn't sure how—he hadn't quite succeeded in making her happy with this trip.

"I'm sorry I ain't—gone inside," Daryl said. "I shoulda gone in with you. Toted out what'cha got. I'm sorry I didn't." Carol simply shook her head in response. "You sore 'cause I didn't?"

Carol looked at him. She looked about as low as he'd seen her look. She looked damn near close to bursting into tears again the same as she had the night before when he'd shown her the house. She shook her head at him.

"I'm not sore, Daryl," Carol said. "I got no cause to be sore."

"But you ain't happy," Daryl said.

Carol put on a smile, quickly, but Daryl didn't feel like it meant what it was supposed to mean. She nodded her head at him.

"I'm happy, Daryl. I'm just wantin' to go home," Carol said. "Can we go home?"

Daryl swallowed and nodded his head.

"Yeah," he said. "We're headin' home."


	21. Chapter 21

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **Warnings on this one for discussion of abortion, miscarriage, and domestic abuse. Nothing too graphic, but it's more than alluded to.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl didn't approach Carol, or directly ask her what was wrong, until their supper was finished, Merle was gone back to the Greene farm, and Carol had started cleaning up—in their brand new kitchen—while water heated on the wood burning stove for their baths.

He didn't have to know exactly what was wrong to know that there was something wrong. And he could accept that maybe she needed some time to think about it—or stew over it—or to do whatever it was that she seemed to need to do. Night was on them, though, and Daryl thought it was time to address things before they retired.

Daryl sat in the chair that Merle had used while they'd eaten supper. Daryl had sat on a wooden box for the meal since they weren't in the practice of having company and didn't yet have enough chairs to go around. Merle, as was customary, hadn't bothered to put his chair back, so Daryl didn't have to bother pulling it out to sit in it. From where he sat—the house almost bare—he had a clear view of Carol as she washed dishes at the basin she filled for just such a task.

"You gonna tell me what the hell you sore about?" Daryl asked.

Carol paused in her washing for just a second and then she picked it back up again.

"I'm not sore, Daryl," Carol said. "I seem to remember that I told you that in town."

"Was the last damn thing you told me," Daryl said. "Was the last damn thing you said to anybody 'cept that supper was ready. Didn't speak to Merle—and don't'cha think he ain't noticed. Didn't say nothin' to me 'bout what you was thinkin'. 'Bout where we oughta put nothin'."

Carol looked around her. There wasn't much that they had to move from the little cabin, but they'd moved everything there was.

"I think it's all fine, Daryl," Carol said. "If it makes you happy."

"It weren't me I was movin' it for," Daryl said. "Carol—I spent my whole damn life back in Georgia in a house that weren't no damn bigger'n the one we just moved outta. When my old man was gone, they was a lil' more room. Helluva lot more air. When my Ma was gone? Too damn much room for Merle'n me. Spent the next part a' my life on wagons. Sometimes drivin' 'em. Sometimes ridin' in the back. Some damn times walkin' along behind 'em. After that? Spent part of my life livin' in a hayloft with Merle while we worked off what we owed from the comin' west. And then? Slept in Hershel's attic with Merle. Lil' room they made for us among the stuff that's up there. Stuff they prob'ly don't even know they got. Don't know they ever had. Weren't me I built this house for. Weren't me I moved in it for. Ain't me that gives a damn where the hell the furniture goes or if we even got furniture."

"It's all for me," Carol said. She dried her hands and busied herself straightening up things that she'd already straightened.

"That's right," Daryl said. "You right. Ever' bit of it. All for you, Carol. Built this house for you."

"I thought you built it for us," Carol said.

"But you don't seem to be too happy here," Daryl said. "An' if you ain't here? They ain't no us."

Daryl swallowed. The sharp feeling that surged through his chest at his own words would've made him sure that somebody had shot him if he didn't know that there was nobody there except him and Carol.

Carol dropped her head where she stood.

"I haven't left," Carol said.

"But you ain't exactly been here," Daryl said.

"I haven't been anywhere else," Carol said. "Except to town. But you were with me."

"Tell me why you're sore," Daryl said. "Gimme—at least gimme a chance, Carol, to make it right. Tell me what I done so I can fix it. If it can be fixed."

"You didn't do anything, Daryl," Carol said.

"Then why ain't you talkin' to me? Why you just lookin' the other way when I'm talkin' to you?" Daryl asked.

Carol shook her head and Daryl heard her sharp intake of breath across the distance the separated them.

"I saw how you looked at that woman in town today," Carol said.

"What woman?" Daryl asked.

Carol shrugged her shoulders.

"Was it Emma?" Carol asked.

"You the one what knows what'cha talkin' about," Daryl said. "I don't got no idea."

"At the hardware," Carol said. "The woman. With the boy? The husband?"

Daryl shrugged his own shoulders now and sat forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his legs.

"I 'member her," Daryl said. "But—I don't know what'cha diggin' at."

"I saw how you looked at her," Carol said.

"I weren't lookin' at her," Daryl said, his stomach twisting a little with the accusation. He couldn't recall having looked at the woman any particular way, but apparently Carol had seen something that he hadn't. He only saw, after all, out of his eyes—he didn't see his face real regularly unless it was in a glass somewhere. And even then, he'd barely done it enough to draw to memory what he even looked like.

"When she said—when she said she was expectin' a child?" Carol said. She shook her head. "You looked at her so hard. Like—she was somethin' like you ain't never seen before."

Daryl shrugged his shoulders at her.

"She _was_ somethin' like I ain't never seen before," Daryl ceded. "Said she was pregnant, but I didn't see no kid on her." He shrugged his shoulders again. "Ain't seen a whole lotta women in my life that was set to have young'uns—but the ones I have seen? They was way on heavier than she was."

"It don't happen overnight, Daryl," Carol said. "She don't wake up, knowin' she's carryin' a child, and already she's set to drop it. Don't happen overnight. Just like it don't with the cows."

"Reckon I know that," Daryl said. "But it's one thing to know it. Somethin' else to see it. That's what'cha sore about? I looked at the woman?" Carol went back to pretending to do things—moving around things that had no reason to be moved around. Then she walked over to the stove and moved the pot of water from where it was warming.

"Come get your bath," Carol said.

"No," Daryl said. Carol turned around to look at him, briefly, like she couldn't believe that he'd said it. He wasn't sure, but he thought that might have been the first time that Carol had looked directly at him since they'd been in town. He shook his head at her. "No," he repeated. "You ain't gonna tell me you sore at me for somethin' I ain't even had no way of knowin' would make you sore an' then tell me I gotta bathe so's you can shut me up an' send me to bed. Not if you ain't tellin' me how the hell to make you so you ain't sore no more. Sit down, Carol."

"I don't want to sit, Daryl," Carol said.

"Yeah," Daryl responded, "but this time I ain't asked you what you want. You my wife. I'm tellin' you to sit down. I ain't askin'. Not this time."

Daryl felt an odd sensation in his body. It was almost like an itch that started at his spine and spread through him. But it was an inside itch. The kind that he couldn't scratch and nobody could scratch for him. It made him uncomfortable and his stomach twisted in response to it, but he didn't retract his statement. He didn't order Carol to do much—he never had to because she was always so willing to do everything he wanted. He wasn't used to having to set his face in the way that let her know that he wasn't joshing her.

He couldn't say that her expression changed. She'd looked just about ready to part company with her supper since she'd looked like she was choking on it while she ate it. She still looked sick. Sick and sad. And Daryl knew, good and well, that he couldn't sleep knowing that she was up looking so sick and so sad and he'd been the one to cause it.

But she nodded her head at him and with heavy feet she walked to the table. She pulled the chair out slowly and she sat down like it was a difficult task to complete.

"The water'll get cold," Carol said.

"Then we'll warm it up again," Daryl said. "What the hell I bought a stove for if it ain't for warmin' shit up?"

"Shouldn't waste wood," Carol said.

"Just means I gotta chop more," Daryl said. "Hell—I can walk five feet out there'n them woods and pick up enough that's fell for that stove to burn from Sunday to Sunday."

"It's just more work for you," Carol said.

"When you gonna stop bein' sore?" Daryl asked.

"I told you," Carol said, keeping pretty strong eye contact with the floor. "I'm not sore, Daryl. Not with you."

Daryl's heart caught. Those were new words. They were a new way of thinking about the whole thing. It was possible for Carol to be sore with someone—but it didn't always have to be Daryl. And it was a perfectly logical thought, but Daryl had gotten to the point of thinking that everything they did or experienced was somehow tied up with each other.

"Who made you sore?" Daryl asked. "Who done it?"

"Me," Carol said, still keeping company with the floor. "You oughta—Daryl—you can deny me. You oughta deny me. I could understand it. Anybody would. You could take you another wife. Like the man at the hardware said—give her all this? An' you could have any wife you wanted, Daryl."

Daryl's gut reacted to Carol's words before anything else in his body caught up with it. Suddenly he realized that supper wasn't going to sit well tonight. He swallowed against the sensation.

"Got me the one I wanted," Daryl said. "I got no cause to deny you. I got no want to, neither."

"But you should," Carol said. "And—all I ask is that you take me back to Eden. Take me back to Andrea?"

"You wantin' you another husband?" Daryl asked, almost afraid of Carol's response.

Carol shook her head at him.

"There won't be no other husband for me, Daryl," Carol said.

"An' they ain't no other wife for me!" Daryl said. He felt, then, the anger starting to rise up in him. He felt the heat of it starting in his belly where his ill-settling supper resided. "You gonna spit out what'cha gotta say right this minute. So help me, Carol, I said I weren't never gonna lay a hand on you. But'cha don't spit this shit out? Tell me why you wantin' to deny _me_. I'ma get it outta you."

Carol broke her staring at the floorboards and looked at Daryl. The threat he'd made was empty. He felt it was empty. He knew he wouldn't have the heart to go through with it—especially not now that the heart he did have felt like it was cracking right in two. But he didn't want her to know that. He expected her to look afraid, though, when she brought her face to meet his. He didn't expect that her eyes would be welled up with tears and her cheeks would be red from the effort of holding back more of the water.

She shook her head at him.

"You want children," Carol said.

"We both do," Daryl said. "Hell—at least that's what the hell you told me you wanted. You been lyin' to me? All this time?"

Carol shook her head again. Her voice, when she spoke, sounded strained and her words were broken up with quick silences that covered over an excessive amount of swallowing. She looked like she was drowning in her own words. Like she was choking on them just as sure as if she'd fallen face first into them and couldn't get back out again.

"You want children. And you oughta have—a wife that'll bear you children. All you want," Carol choked out.

Daryl sat forward in his own chair, dizziness somewhat shaking his brain for a second.

"You sayin' you don't wanna bear my young'uns?" Daryl asked.

"I want—Daryl? There's nothin' else in the world I want _more_ ," Carol said. "I'm sayin'—I don't know if I _can_."

Daryl had once been in a fight that had started in a saloon with Merle running his mouth. The fight had been taken outside under warning that the sheriff would be called in to deal with it, and in the street they'd locked up with the man that Merle had been bad-mouthing and his buddy. Daryl had fought because necessity had called for it. He'd fought because his brother was going to get his neck broke if they weren't fighting it together. Daryl couldn't recall any of the details about the fight though—what had gotten it started other than cheap whisky and his brother's mouth—except for the fact that he'd gotten gut punched so hard it had made it his eyes go dark for a second.

That same sensation hit Daryl again—though without the aid of the asshole's fists—when he saw Carol's face contort at the words. He wanted to say something, but his mouth wasn't in line with working when his stomach felt so bad. He barely managed to even shake his head at her and get out something that was little more than a gasp of air that was meant to ask for more information.

And, somehow, Carol must've understood it. Or else she had an overwhelming need to unburden herself, because she kept going, her words flowing out with her tears.

"I don't know if I can. I don't know if I ever could. If I was ever meant for it or if—I weren't never meant to be no good wife, Daryl. At Andrea's? Daryl—the doc—he would come 'round and he'd ask everyone about their moons when he was checkin' us. Sometimes he'd give us this—he'd give us—to drink. And I drank it. Right along with everybody else, Daryl. Right along with 'em because they was—they needed to drink it. But I never felt like I needed to. Not like I really needed to. But they needed to and I needed to _need_ to...Daryl. Do you understand? And sometimes they'd let it go too far. Let it set in too good. An' the doc, he'd come around and he'd take care of it and Andrea—she'd dose them with laudanum 'cause of the pain and she'd tend to 'em—and I never so much as tasted the laudanum 'cause there weren't never no pain for me. Not like they was suffering. And I don't know if it was 'cause there was never no child for me to be rid of or if it was...somethin' else. I just—don't know. There was only one time that I was thinkin'—just the one time."

She broke to catch her breath. She broke to swallow down big gulps of air like she'd just run from one end of the world to the other without stopping. She swallowed air like she wasn't getting enough—like she might never get enough again.

Daryl took advantage of her choking silence.

"The one time when?" Daryl asked. "When was they a one time?"

Carol shook her head at him. She continued to shake it even as she continued to swallow down air like a fish caught out of water that was desperately trying to fling itself back for another chance at life.

"I weren't never fit to be no wife," Carol said. "Never. I woudln'ta been at Eden if I was fit to be a wife, Daryl."

"You my wife!" Daryl barked, surprised at how loud his words came out.

"I weren't always!" Carol yelled back. Daryl was more surprised by that than he was by his own reaction. Carol's shoulders immediately sunk. "I weren't always your wife 'cause I was somebody else's wife."

The gut punch feeling returned, but the initial blow was out of the way and now it was just the dull throbbing of an injury sustained.

"What'cha mean?" Daryl asked. "You married? To somebody else?"

Carol shook her head.

"Not no more," Carol said. "Not no more. I'm just married to you, Daryl. But—I was married. He's dead. He was prospectin'. Same as the man in town. He wanted gold. Wanted me to be his wife. Wanted a home, Daryl. Children. An' I weren't never fit to be his wife. Weren't long after we was married he let me know. Let me know I weren't fit to be no wife. Daryl—I can't do all the things that a wife's supposed to do. I couldn't do nothin' to make him happy. An' he tried to teach me how to be the right kinda woman for him. He would hit me if I weren't doin' somethin' right until I got it right—but I never got it right, Daryl."

Daryl couldn't believe what he was hearing. He didn't know how to respond to it. It was too much at once, it felt like, for his brain to even handle. His mind felt like it was spinning around and it couldn't stop. It couldn't focus on any one thing Carol was saying because it was jumping back and forth and trying to understand the whole of it at once.

"I was expectin' a child. At least—I thought I was," Carol said. As she spoke, her voice slowly changed. It seemed to calm a little. The hiccupping breaks that had dotted her words, before, slowly subsided. "I was so happy. I was doin' somethin' right. I might notta been doing anything else right, but I was doin' somethin' right. And then? There just weren't no baby, Daryl. My moons come on me again. Ed, my then-husband, was so mad—he couldn't even stand to hardly look at me. Punished me for it. For not bein' able to do the simplest thing. Don't take nothin', he said, for a woman to bear kids. So simple—even the dullest animal can do it. But I couldn't. That was when he brought me here—travelled just to bring me here. Left me in town. Denied me there. Wasn't nobody that could help me. Except Andrea." Carol looked at Daryl and shook her head. "I hated him, Daryl. Wanted him dead. Said it more'n once. But I didn't know he'd died. Didn't know that—well, Andrea told me he was dead. Had an accident. Got his head stove in. But I wanted him dead more'n once. But I thought—when you married me? I didn't know if it was my hate what had brought on my moons. Maybe I was just so full up of it that there weren't room for nothin' else to grow inside me. When we got married? I thought that—if I was lovin' you? 'Cause I love you, Daryl. Like I ain't never loved nobody. Thought if I was lovin' you—maybe God'd see fit to let me grow your children in that love. But I don't know that it'll happen."

"It just ain't happened yet," Daryl said. In his chest, the ache had changed. Now, instead of the pounding and dull reminder of an injury suffered in the past, there was a strange and radiating numbness that seemed to pulse out to his fingers. He couldn't be mad because his body seemed to have forgotten what that felt like. It seemed to have forgotten how to make the feeling entirely. He felt empty. With no more distance between them than the table that he built, he felt like Carol was far away from him and he felt empty without her. He only wanted to get closer to her. He wanted the distance of the table to be gone. He moved his chair forward a little, nearly pressing himself against the table to shorten the distance between them. "It just ain't happened, Carol."

"What if it don't?" Carol asked. Her whole body sagged. Something invisible was hanging around her neck and dragging her toward the floor.

Once, Daryl had never thought about the possibility of having a child. He'd never thought about the possibility of being married and having anything at all in the world to call his. Once he'd married Carol, though, he'd started thinking of everything he might have. He'd started thinking that everything good in the world was possible for him because Carol had brought it into his life. And once he'd started thinking of having children with her, he couldn't imagine it any different.

"It's gotta," Daryl said. "Gonna happen. Just—ain't happened yet."

"You oughta deny me," Carol said. "Take me back to Eden. Get you a wife what can give you what'cha want, Daryl."

Daryl swallowed and shook his head at her.

"Done got it," Daryl said. "Ain't no wife what can give me what I want but you. You the only damn thing I ever really wanted bad enough to try to get it."

"What if I can't give you no children?" Carol asked.

"I ain't ready to think on that," Daryl said.

"I think it's time to think on it," Carol said. "If you'da married that woman in town? You'd prob'ly be holdin' your son by now. Maybe she'd even be tellin' you that she was carryin' you another. Right here while you was waitin' on her to get your bath ready. His bath ready. Instead? I haven't give you nothing."

"You give me all I ever asked of you," Daryl responded. "It's her what ain't give me nothin'. She ain't even real. Not to me."

"There might not never be a child," Carol said. Her face was still drawn up in places, but she looked less drawn up than she was. Her eyes and cheeks were red, and her face was wet, but the wetness wasn't actively renewing itself.

"That gold I got out there? Growin' in the ground? It's reliable Carol. I know it is. Long as I keep sweatin' over it, it'll keep growin'. You an' me will keep on makin' the money we gotta have to keep on livin'. Long as I'm willin' to keep on sweatin'. Better'n some hole in a rock what offers fast money until they just ain't no more," Daryl said.

"I know that," Carol said.

"We ain't gonna hurt for money," Daryl said. "'Cause I ain't never been afraid to sweat."

"I know," Carol said.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"If I go back to Eden? Won't be to take you back, Carol. An' it won't be in search out no new wife. I go back there? Be offerin' some of that money to one of them whores what's drinkin' down that shit. A whole damn handful of it. Kinda money that's got 'em damn near salivatin' like Andrea was when I was countin' it out to her. An' all they gotta do? Grow one of them kids all the way. Hand him out the back door to ya. Ain't nobody gotta know, Carol. There ain't shit been made that money can't buy." Daryl said. "If that's what'cha wantin'. If that's—gonna make you stop bein' sore? I'll ride out there myself, tomorrow, like I know what the hell we forgot to get in town. What we meant to be gettin'."

"You would do that?" Carol asked.

"If it's what'cha want," Daryl said.

"You can't buy a baby," Carol said.

"Then you don't know shit," Daryl said. "Can buy whatever the hell you want. Ain't Andrea never teached you that? All them books you read an' they ain't never teached you that? Don't believe there's nothin' you can't buy except—maybe somebody lovin' you. An' I love you. You said you love me."

"I do," Carol interjected quickly.

"Then I don't need nothin' else that I can't buy," Daryl said.

"People would know," Carol said.

"Then let 'em know," Daryl said. "Don't make no nevermind to me."

"They would talk," Carol said.

"Do that anyway," Daryl offered.

"Is that what you want, Daryl?" Carol asked.

Daryl shook his head.

"Ain't about what I want," Daryl said. "Ain't been for a while. I got me what I want. Askin' if that's what you want."

Carol shook her head.

"No," Carol said. "That's not what I want. I want—I want to be a mother. I want you to be a father. I wanna bear your children."

Daryl swallowed and nodded his head.

"Then that's what'cha gonna do," Daryl said.

"What if I don't?" Carol asked.

Daryl sucked in a breath and held it. Suddenly he wondered if the slightly dizzy sensation that was whirling his brain about was coming from the fact that they just seemed to be coming back around to the same old thing over and over again.

"All this time you ain't even said what if you do," Daryl responded. "Ain't even considered it."

"Then I'd be happy," Carol said. "If I was to have a child? Then I'd be happy."

Daryl nodded his head.

"Then that's what we gonna do," he said.

"It don't work that way," Carol said.

"Don't work this way neither," Daryl pointed out. "You shakin' like you freezin' to death. An' that ain't workin'. So we gonna do it my way. Just—knowin' that it'll happen. One damn way or another? It'll happen—even if I gotta buy us one. But I ain't gonna do that. Not if it ain't what'cha want. I want'cha to have what'cha want."

"And if I don't want that? And it don't happen?" Carol asked.

Daryl stood up. He crossed the kitchen and put another stick of wood in the stove. Waving his hand over the top, he could feel the heat radiating off of it and he put the pot back in place.

"Then it don't happen," Daryl said.

"You _need_ children," Carol said.

"Got what the hell I need," Daryl said. "Reckon I know what the hell I need. You shakin'. Ain't that damn cold—but you shakin'. Come on over here. I'ma get this water hot. Get'cha warmed up like you oughta be. Couldn't carry no baby no way, shakin' like that. You'da done shook it loose. Maybe that's what'cha done already. But I'ma stop it now. Come here—get warm."


	22. Chapter 22

**AN: Here we go, another chapter.**

 **By my plans, there are about 13-15 chapters left in this one. I honestly have to admit that I'm not sure because I have a very detailed plan here, but I keep adding chapters here and there because I realize there's something else I need to add. So roughly we have 13-15 left, but that all depends on how those chapters unfold and what they leave me feeling like I need to do.**

 **I also wanted to say that, though I haven't responded to you all individually, I really appreciate the reviews you're leaving me and that you're taking the time to let me know that you're reading this story and enjoying it. As with most stories, I really wasn't sure if anybody would really like it, so it means a lot to know that you are enjoying this world with me!**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"Sweetheart—worryin' about babies never made 'em come no faster," Miss Jo declared. "At least never that I know of. In fact—I've heard it can slow 'em down."

"I can't not worry about it," Carol said. She pretended to focus on the needlework that she was doing, but she was so distracted that she'd hardly completed a stitch in the old woman's company. She knew that Miss Jo was aware of it, too, but thankfully she wasn't pointing it out too much. "Daryl can say he's fine if we don't got a baby, but I know he wants it. Just lookin' at that woman in town. You shoulda seen him."

Miss Jo laughed to herself.

"I've known him a little while," Miss Jo said. "I suppose he mostly says what he means. I ain't known him to bite his tongue. If he says it's fine, then I'm guessin' he means it's fine. Only time I've ever known him to not be fine about somethin'...well, he weren't none to quiet about it."

"When was that?" Carol asked.

Miss Jo smiled softly at her.

"When he was set on marryin' you," Miss Jo responded. She sucked in a breath and let it out, studying her own work that she was better able to focus on than Carol was at the moment. "There weren't nothin' gonna make that boy happy until he married you. And he made sure everybody knew it."

"I know he thought he wanted to marry me," Carol said, "but you had to know I weren't meant to be no good wife."

Miss Jo rolled her eyes in Carol's direction and the signs of a soft smile pulled up at the corners of her mouth. She sighed and rested her sewing in her lap.

"To tell you the truth," Miss Jo said, "I had my reservations. I didn't know nothin' about you except that he said he met you...at a..."

"You can say it," Carol said. "Brothel. That's where he met me. I weren't nothin' but a whore when he met me. You don't gotta pretend I weren't."

Miss Jo nodded her head.

"I had my reservations. I didn't know if you'd be no kinda wife," Miss Jo said. "But more'n that? I didn't know if you was gonna have any interest in bein' a wife. Didn't know if he was gonna ride out there—all cocked an' sure that he weren't never gonna be happy no other way—and you'd just...break his heart."

Carol ducked her head. She shook her head.

"Didn't know if I wanted to marry Daryl," Carol admitted. "After—well, I knew I weren't fit to be no wife. But worse than findin' that out is findin' out you got nowhere to go. You got nothin'. Didn't want to leave Andrea and then—I don't got nowhere to go again once he finds out I weren't never meant to be no good wife."

"But to hear Daryl tell it," Miss Jo responded, "you're a fine wife. The best he could ask for."

"And you know it ain't so," Carol said.

"You help him on the farm?" Miss Jo asked.

"When he asks," Carol said. "When he'll let me. Keep my plot up for food. Do what I'm allowed to do."

"Keep his house clean? Keep his clothes clean?" Miss Jo asked.

Carol nodded her head.

"Every day," Carol said.

"Keep him fed?" Miss Jo asked.

"Make sure he's got somethin' in his belly three times a day," Carol said. "Even if he just likes eatin' the same thing over an' over again. He don't hardly want no different."

Miss Jo laughed.

"It ain't your place to judge what a workin' man wants to put in his stomach of a evenin'," Miss Jo said. "Not if it ain't doin' him no harm an' you neither. You...you—perform your married obligations?" Carol looked at the old woman and opened her mouth to speak, but she didn't say anything before Miss Jo corrected herself and clarified her statement. "You keep his bed warm?" Miss Jo asked. "And meet his needs? His carnal needs? At least—within reason?"

Carol swallowed and nodded her head. She felt her whole face run warm.

"I think I do," Carol said. "He ain't never said he ain't satisfied. And I don't really think that there'd be too much more opportunity."

Miss Jo laughed to herself and nodded her acceptance of Carol's words.

"It's clear you keep yourself clean," Miss Jo said. "Your hair isn't very tidy but..." She broke off and laughed. "But I imagine that your hair might'nt ever be tidy. Do you help him to better himself?"

Carol shrugged her shoulders.

"I suppose?" Carol answered. "He's the best kinda man I've ever known. I don't know what I could do to better him. Or to help him better himself."

"That's alright then," Miss Jo said. "But it's your responsibility to help him if you seen such an area for improvement. But gently. Don't humble him too much. That's improper as well."

Carol nodded her head.

"I wouldn't," she promised.

"Do you do him kindnesses?" Miss Jo asked. "Show him your appreciation for his work an' the efforts he puts into them? For what he does for you?"

Carol shrugged and nodded again.

"I think so," Carol said softly. "I do for him what he likes done. He likes a bath every evenin'. Before bed. He likes it when—when I wash him. Nice and gentle like, he says."

Carol felt her face run warm again. Daryl loved his baths—and Carol loved bathing him. But she'd never performed such a ritual with Ed. Ed had despised bathing and had only done it when he felt compelled to do it—and even then he didn't want her having a part in it. She'd only been introduced to the idea of washing a man by Andrea, who'd declared that washing kept away infection and sickness—things that they couldn't afford in their profession. She didn't know, then, if it was normal practice for most married people.

But Miss Jo didn't seem too entirely mortified by it or stunned. She simply offered Carol a soft smile and nodded her head.

"And what does Daryl say about you bein' his wife?" Miss Jo asked. "Our husbands can sometimes be those that judge us the harshest."

Carol shook her head.

"He says I'm the best kinda wife he could have," Carol said.

"Then he would know best," Miss Jo said.

"But he don't know no better," Carol said. "And Ed? The man that—denied me? Left me in town? He said I was the worst kinda wife that ever there was. That he didn't want me an' that nobody would."

"And where's he now?" Miss Jo asked.

"Dead," Carol said. She swallowed. She was uncertain about the true cause of Ed's death—though she didn't doubt that he was dead if Andrea said he was—and only knew what she'd been told. She supposed, though, that the truth as everyone accepted it was what was important. "Fell. Got his head stove in."

"And he denied you," Miss Jo said. "Publicly. So—in all ways, he ain't your husband no more. And his opinions are no longer of your concern." Carol nodded her acceptance of Miss Jo's views on Ed. Now that Daryl knew about him, there was no need to hide him any longer. It wasn't as though admitting he'd once been her husband could cause her any more shame than she already had in life. "So it ain't his opinions that you gotta worry about. Only Daryl's. He's your wedded husband. And if he says you're the best wife for him? He'd be the one to know. Besides—sounds to me like you're doin' your duties. Same as anyone. Maybe even better'n most."

"But I ain't give him a child," Carol said. "Not in all this time. Don't know that I ever will."

Miss Jo hummed.

"Did you know that I was married before? Before I married Hershel?" Miss Jo asked.

"No," Carol responded, shaking her head gently.

Miss Jo hummed in affirmation.

"Weren't a long marriage," she said. "Two years? I don't remember the particulars. His name was John and he was a scout. I married him when I was just about reachin' the age that my parents were worryin' I wouldn't never marry." Her face lit up a little at the memory. "I _loved_ John."

"What happened?" Carol asked.

Miss Jo sighed and shook her head.

"He was a scout. Rode out with the army," Miss Jo said. "Most of the outfit come back. John didn't. Said he was lost out there. Said he died a hero. Didn't matter to me none. He was dead. That's all that mattered to me."

Carol swallowed and watched the old woman's face. She would have never imagined, from the way that Miss Jo was with Hershel, that she'd ever loved anyone else but the old man before—but it was clear that she'd loved this man.

"He was a good husband?" Carol asked.

Miss Jo smiled.

"Oh, yes!" She declared. "But then I was blessed with two good husbands in my life. After John's passing, I wasn't interested in marryin' again. As a widow—I didn't much have to. Everybody tells you that you got to be married, but once you've buried one husband? They don't seem to frown so much on it when you say you don't wanna marry again."

"But you married Hershel," Carol said.

Miss Jo nodded, her smile renewed from before.

"I did," Miss Jo said. "He'd already been married. Margaret. And how he'd loved her. When he first set about courtin' me? I was terrified there weren't never a chance I could live up to Margaret. She'd bore him three children. Caught the sickness and died. Left him shook to his core. When he first set himself on courtin' me? He was almost a broken man. And I knew that—if I married him? It was gonna be my job to put him back right again."

"But you married him anyway," Carol said.

Miss Jo nodded her head.

"But that ain't the important part of the story," she said. "And I didn't mean to bore you with the particulars of an old woman's life."

Carol laughed to herself.

"I'm not bored," she assured her. "I'd like to hear it. How'd he court you? What made you decide—to marry him when you weren't sure you wanted to set him back right?"

Miss Jo shook her head.

"Not important," she told Carol. "Maybe—for another time? But for now—that weren't what I wanted to talk to you about. What I wanted to tell you was what come later."

Carol nodded her acceptance.

"Go ahead," she said.

"When I was married to Hershel," Miss Jo said, "there was people about town that said he didn't make a good choice. I weren't young. I was a widow an' I was good an' set in my ways. He had three children. He had all this—though he was desperate close to losin' it all. They said he'da done better to marry him a younger woman. Coulda borne him more children. Took care a' him better'n I could when he needed it."

Carol swallowed. Her chest ached simply because she knew that people talked. She hadn't heard them talking about her—not straight out—but she'd seen a couple of people that made eyes at her and then whispered among themselves. Most accepted her, now, as Daryl's wife—but there were some that had never forgotten that she was a whore. And now that Daryl was making a name for himself and starting to bring in more money for himself, there would only be more women that would think that she was a poor decision he'd made—especially if she never gave him the children that he needed.

"You and Hershel got children," Carol pointed out.

Miss Jo nodded her head.

"Two," she said. "I wouldn'ta thought that we would. But they're here. But it weren't easy going."

"What happened?" Carol asked.

Miss Jo laughed to herself.

"Nothin' that's much worth the tellin'," Miss Jo informed her. "When we married? I was hopin' to be pregnant right off. I wouldn't be no sooner clear of our wedding night than I'd be tellin' Hershel that I was carryin' another child for him. But when I got here? There was so much that needed to be done on the farm. So much that needed to be done with the ones that he was already raisin'. Children that were missin' their mama an' weren't too happy to have me."

"They're just like you're children now," Carol pointed out. "I didn't know they weren't. Not until Daryl told me."

"But you know, just as well as I do, that what is ain't always what will be," Miss Jo said. "Or always what was. It was a hard row to hoe when I got here. But—I come to love Hershel. Ever' bit as much as I loved John. More, maybe. 'Cause John was always goin' here an' there. A scout don't stay in one place too long. No sooner'n we'd have a fight an' make up, he'd be gone again. He'd come back an' all would be forgot 'cause I didn't know when he'd be out again. But Hershel? He's here an' I'm here. An' there ain't neither one of us steppin' out on things. So you gotta learn to live together in a special way like that."

Carol nodded her head.

"I understand," Carol said. "Daryl don't like for us to quarrel. But when we do? He says we don't go to sleep as long as there's somethin' that ain't been handled."

Miss Jo laughed.

"Was Hershel that told him that, I'm sure," Miss Jo said. "Good advice. Solid. It might not be all washed away by the time you close your eyes—but sleepin' on it just lets it fester like leavin' a splinter in a wound. Best to get it out as quick as possible."

"So that's it?" Carol asked. "You—married him an' you had two babies an' you loved his like they was your own?"

Miss Jo shook her head.

"For the longest time? We waited. I cried every time my courses came on me," Miss Jo said. "I was sure I weren't never gonna give him another child. But—he told me it was fine. Said it didn't matter. He had his children. He was raisin' them. If there weren't no more, he was goin' to be fine. We were goin' to be fine." She sucked her teeth. "But still I worried somethin' awful about it. Got so wrapped up in it that I would catch myself doin' clumsy things. Drop somethin'. Leave the pen open until we were runnin' hogs down. Until, one night, Hershel sat me down at that table right in there an' he said that he didn't want me worryin' no more. If the Good Lord seen fit to give us a child, it'd be done. But it weren't gettin' done no sooner with me worryin' over it." Carol shrugged her shoulders at the old woman and Miss Jo continued. "I quit worryin' about it. Put my focus into—livin' my life. Lovin' the children that had been left behind for me in a way that woulda made their mama proud. Givin' my husband what he needed from me." She smiled, the corner of her mouth turning up just slightly with the change of expression. "And then? One day? I just felt _different_. I felt tired. Out of sorts. Told Hershel about it an' he worried somethin' awful. Took me straight to the doc an' I heard what I had expected never to hear. I was carryin' Hoke. An' Elizabeth—she come right on not a year later."

Carol swallowed.

"I'm happy for you that it happened that way," Carol said. "But I can't believe that's how it's gonna happen for me."

Miss Jo laughed and nodded her head.

"I understand your fear," Miss Jo said. "When we want somethin', we don't wanna hear we gotta wait for it. Don't wanna think it might not never come. We want it right when we want it. But—sometimes? The best things in life take their time. Were you happy with Ed?"

Carol shook her head.

"Not at all," Carol said.

"Are you happy with Daryl?" Miss Jo asked.

"Happier than I could've ever believed I could be," Carol said.

"Then you oughta know that sometimes what's right now ain't the best it's gonna be," Miss Jo said. "You oughta know that even more'n I did. Because you know already what it is to not be happy—and to find that happiness when you're least expectin' it. It was different for me, you know. I did love John. Losin' him didn't feel like no blessin'."

"I'm sorry," Carol offered. Miss Jo shook her head.

"Don't do no good for anybody to be sorry for what they can't change," Miss Jo said. "If you an' Daryl are meant to have a child? You'll have one. But it'll happen in its time. Same as ever'thing else."

"It was different for you," Carol said. "Hershel already had three children. If he didn't have no children with you? He was still gonna have the three. You were still gonna have the three. He says it's fine if we don't have 'em, but Daryl wants children. And I wanna give him what he wants. I want him to have what he wants."

Miss Jo picked up her sewing and focused on it again for a few moments in silence. Then she put it down and caught Carol's eyes again.

"I've known Daryl for a while," Miss Jo said. "He never said—nothin', really, about wantin' a wife. Nothin' about wantin' a farm. Nothin' about wantin' a child. I thought—at best he'd be livin' in our attic until we was to pass away an' he'd have to find another life for himself. Maybe the children would see fit to cut him in on some of what we had to leave 'em. And then one day—he come downstairs an' there weren't nothin' doin' until he had a wife. Not just any wife, neither. Had to be the one. The only woman that had turned his head." Carol swallowed and somewhat nodded her head. She'd heard it before. She understood what the woman was saying, but she couldn't bring herself to say it in those words.

"But he wants a child," Carol said.

"Point is," Miss Jo said, "that he didn't say nothin' about wantin' a child until he was married to you. Marryin' you? Drove him to want a farm. Drove him to wantin' a child. Wantin' a life for himself. He wants a child with you—if it should be that you would have him one—but it was you that he wanted, Carol. It was a life with you that he wanted. The child? That's just the decoration. And if he says he'd be fine without it? If he says he'd be fine if it didn't never happen? Then I reckon he knows best what's in his heart."

"But what do I do?" Carol asked.

Miss Jo smiled at her.

"You live your life," Miss Jo said. "You be a good wife. Just as you should any way. You pray about the child you hope to have. And if it's meant to be? It'll come to pass. And if it isn't? You be exactly what you already are—the best wife your husband can have." She sighed. "But worryin' a baby never made it come no faster. Believe me—I know."


	23. Chapter 23

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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As winter closed in on the farm and closed in on Carol and Daryl, Carol made her last ride out to town with Toby close behind and told Mr. Wagner that her time working at the general store was over. They didn't need the money and the winter would be cold and harsh. The trek back and forth was fine to make every now and again—bundled up on the wagon and in the company of Daryl—but she didn't feel comfortable riding out on her own when the snows started to pile up and Jubilee's step wasn't as sure as it could be. Winter wasn't a time for working in town. Winter was a time for hunkering down and doing only what had to be done on the farm. It was a time for keeping warm as best they could and praying that it passed quickly enough with as little of their livestock freezing as possible.

Mr. Wagner had seemed to understand, too, though he'd admitted to Carol that he was right sore to see her go. He told her she'd brought something to the store that he hadn't had there before, though he hadn't bothered to clarify what it was that she might have left behind, and he told her that her job was there if she should ever want it again.

Their home was larger than the one they'd had before. It boasted a fireplace in the living room and one in each of the bedrooms, thanks to Daryl's fears about them freezing to death. With the fires burning, it wasn't difficult to keep it to a temperature that pleased Daryl, and Carol made sure that he was always pleased in any way that she knew she could make him.

Carol helped Daryl on the farm as much as she could and she was pleased when he allowed her, even, to help him repair the windbreaks in the winter pastures for the cows. She helped to feed the cows and tend the horses, and she convinced Daryl to let Toby and Shadow sleep nights in the barn because the cold was too bitter for them outside. Once, even, she convinced him to let them sleep inside the cabin and the dogs didn't let her down. They'd been perfect houseguests and had slept by the fireplace in their bedroom all night.

Slowly Carol sewed the curtains for the windows and she got them hung. She requested pieces of furniture here and there—like the extra chairs that Daryl made for their table and a wardrobe for the bedroom—and she carefully constructed, out of what was given to her, the nicest home that she could possibly make for Daryl. When the curtains were finished, she sewed a dress for herself out of the leftover material and she spent some evenings making new clothes from the bleached shirting for her and Daryl both.

And Carol started each day, and ended each night, in the same way—wrapped in Daryl's arms.

Together, they waited out the winter, and they rejoiced over what Daryl was sure would be the final killing frost that marked when their spring wheat went into the ground. And Daryl, without argument, allowed Carol to help him get the wheat planted—each handful of seed tossed out was a promise for their future.

A future that Carol was starting to see stretching across the span of more time than she could even imagine.

One evening, it was nearing supper time when Carol heard the sounds of Toby and Shadow raising hell outside. Daryl was outside, Carol knew, tending the horses to make sure they were ready to be bedded down for the night. She abandoned the food for a moment, took her small gun in hand, and stepped out of the house to search out the source of the dogs' distress. She heard the source of it before she saw it. There was the squeak and rattle of a rig drawing near.

"Daryl!" Carol called out. "Daryl! Somebody comin' up! Wagon's comin'!"

The rig that was nearing them wasn't coming from the direction of the Greene farm, and it didn't have the same sound as the rig that Hershel drove—the one they borrowed and Merle borrowed too. Hershel's wagon had a number of tools that he kept, always available, hanging from the sides and they clapped and caused a great deal of noise when the wagon went over bumps in the road. This wagon was rolling along without the sound of anything more than its own pieces and parts.

Daryl stepped out of the barn and Carol was relieved to see him. She smiled to herself when he called out to her.

"What'cha say?" He asked. "What's the damn dogs yappin' about?"

"Wagon!" Carol yelled. "Wagon comin' up the road!"

Daryl turned his attention in the direction of the sound. Carol didn't know if it was because he finally heard her, or if he was simply responding to the movement of the two dogs who took off like black and white bullets in the direction of the nearing noise.

They came trotting back, still barking, as the wagon slowly rolled up—pulled by two cream colored horses—and came to a halt near the cabin. Daryl walked out to meet the wagon, but Carol did too. She immediately recognized the woman that was riding on it, even if she wasn't familiar with the man who was driving.

"Ms. Sutton!" Carol called, approaching the wagon. "Daryl—this is Ms. Sutton. She's the one what teaches in town."

Daryl looked pleased to finally make the acquaintance of the woman and he offered a hand to her to help her off the rig. She took his hand and accepted his assistance.

"I'm sorry for the late call," she said. "We got lost once on the way here an' they redirected us at a neighboring farm. But I believe we got lost again."

Carol laughed to herself, and she heard Daryl chuckle as well.

"We set pretty well out here," Daryl said. "Good that way. Gonna expand and it ain't no problem to do it. Once the winter wheat comes in, that is—gonna buy up about as far as you can see toward them trees."

Daryl gestured in the direction of the land that they intended to purchase to expand their claim. Ms. Sutton looked in that direction and hummed, but there was a good chance that it made no nevermind to her. Ms. Sutton was the teacher in town and she took board there. She wasn't accustomed, as far as Carol knew, to farm life. Talk of winter and spring wheat, and talk of expanding pastures, would mean very little to her.

"What brings you out here this time of the evening?" Carol asked.

"I don't mean to be rude," Ms. Sutton said, as the man who was driving the wagon helped himself down and set the wheels. "This is Joseph Massey. We're to be married in a month."

Daryl quickly walked around and offered his hand to the man to shake.

"Daryl Dixon," Daryl said. "My wife, Carol. And don't mind the pups," he gestured toward Toby and Shadow who had settled down but weren't leaving the scene for any reason. "They mostly mouth 'less they got cause to be otherwise."

"We appreciated them," Joseph said with a laugh. "They give us a good indication we were at least nearing the farm."

"What brings you out?" Daryl asked. "Can we have you in? Warm up? Have some coffee?"

Carol's heart jumped.

"Supper!" She barked and darted back toward the cabin. Inside she was relieved to find that their stew hadn't burned, even if it had begun to stick to the pot in places. Knowing that Daryl's invitation for coffee was also an indication that he might desire some, Carol quickly put a pot on and grabbed her small bucket to take out for milking Nan. As she headed out the door, Daryl was coming into it with their company.

"Where you goin'?" He asked.

"Coffee's no good with buttermilk," Carol said. "Just steppin' out for milk." She gestured toward the table where they'd eat. "Please," she said. "Sit. I'll be back in a minute with milk. We'll have supper and some coffee. I'da made somethin' for dessert but..."

"Please don't apologize," Ms. Sutton said, shaking her head at Carol. "It's us who should've announced our visit. Do you need help with the milk?"

Carol smiled at her and shook her head.

"I can handle the milk myself," Carol assured. "Please—just sit? I promise. I'll be right back."

Carol stepped out the door and made her way to the barn where Nan and Sook, their two dairy cows, were more than happy to see her. She selected Nan for the milking, since Nan always seemed to have a desire for a little more milking than she ever got, and she quickly filled the small pail enough that she figured it would carry them through the evening. Then, with Toby and Shadow trotting along with her back to the house, Carol made her way back.

She had no idea why Ms. Sutton had come, but she felt there must be a reason. A friendly visit was well and good, but Ms. Sutton had never been out to their farm. She'd never expressed any desire to know much more about Carol beyond what she'd learned from her books and who she was married to. So Carol's heart thundered a little in her chest as she worried about what the woman might have come for.

When Carol came inside, everyone was settled at the table and Daryl had already offered tobacco to Joseph and they were both enjoying one of his tightly rolled cigarettes.

"Tobacco before supper, Daryl?" Carol asked.

Daryl smiled at her. It was a genuine smile. It was the kind of smile that, without reason, made Carol smile in return, no matter what it was about.

"We'll have more with the coffee," Daryl said. "Just figured I'd be hospitaliable, while we wait."

Carol swallowed. She didn't dare to correct him that the word he was searching for was hospitable, but she saw Ms. Sutton somewhat cringe a little at his misspeaking.

"Why don't I serve the supper?" Carol asked. "We got a good stew."

"We didn't mean to come begging food," Joseph offered.

"We didn't mean to put you out," Ms. Sutton said.

"You don't put us out," Daryl said. "We got plenty. Always do."

Carol nodded her head to agree with him and quickly set about filling bowls. She brought the biscuits to the table and put them in the middle before she brought Daryl and Joseph's bowls. Then she brought one for herself and one for the schoolteacher. When they sat, Daryl took her hand and ducked his head. Without knowing whether or not their guests preferred to lay a blessing on their meal, Daryl did it anyway. As was customary, he asked for blessings on them and on their farm. For good measure, he tacked on a blessing for their guests and whatever it may be that they were needing blessings laid on.

And then it was time to eat and time for everyone to tell Carol that the stew was delicious and the biscuits were wonderful—whether or not Daryl was the one who truly believed it.

"You must be wonderin' what we're doin' just calling on you outta the blue like this," Ms. Sutton said.

"Well, Ms. Sutton," Carol said, "I gotta admit that I wasn't expectin' it."

"Please," Ms. Sutton said, "call me Evie?"

Carol nodded her head.

"Evie," she repeated, feeling strange calling the woman by her first name as though they were old acquaintances.

"I know it's short notice but...Joseph and I are getting married in a month," Evie said. "And he wants us to get married in Nebraska."

"My folks are in Nebraska," Joseph explained quickly. "I come up here lookin' for a gold claim." He nodded his head in Daryl's direction. "Got one, too. No signs of pinchin' out."

"Congratulations," Daryl offered around a mouthful of soup-sodden biscuit.

"Seemed the only thing left to do was find a wife," Joseph said. "And I finally got Evie to agree to marry me. But my folks wouldn't never forgive me if we weren't married there."

"I don't got folks," Daryl informed him. "Carol neither."

"My parents have passed," Evie said. "It's how I got here in the first place. Came with my father after my mother passed. He didn't last through two winters."

"Winterin' hard ain't for ever'body," Daryl pointed out.

"Congratulations on your marriage," Carol said, hoping to redirect the conversation and find out the reason for the visit. Though it was going well, or at least she thought it was, she wasn't enjoying the gnawing feeling in her gut over the whole thing. "Nebraska is a far piece?"

"Not too bad," Joseph said. "But we ain't gonna want to go out there an' head right on back. Not right away. I got enough people workin' my claim for me that I can afford to step out on 'em a bit. Established that way."

"So we thought we'd take a short vacation," Evie said. "Maybe having Joseph's mother around would help— _prepare me_." She blushed red. "For bein' a wife. I don't have much practice at it and my own mother never had much time to teach me the things I had to learn." She nodded at Carol. "I'm sure you understand?"

"Carol's Ma taught her good," Daryl said. "Or her Madam-Miss did. Don't matter. She knows about all there is to know about wifin'."

Carol swallowed. The stew was not going to sit well tonight. Tonight it felt like she'd swallowed down lead instead of what she'd thought would be fine supper.

She caught Evie's glance across the table. As soon as the woman realized she was looking at her, she dropped her eyes toward her bowl.

"Carol—you're the only other woman around here that's been through all the levels of schooling," Evie said. "And the population is growing so that—I can hardly keep up with all my students. I was hopin' that you might see a way to come to work with me. Teaching. And then? When we go to Nebraska, that you might hold it down for me so that we could continue to work together upon my return."

Carol was shocked by the request. She glanced at Daryl, whose mouth was partially open, and could tell that he'd been taken off guard by it as well. She shook her head.

"I don't think I could..." Carol started.

"If you don't," Evie said, "they're gonna have to close the school down. They'll have to send for another teacher from somewhere. An' you know as well as I do that this...well this place? There aren't too many women who are willing to even think of comin' out to the wild. Especially not educated women, Carol."

Carol swallowed and shook her head again.

"They won't want me for no teacher," Carol said. "They won't want me in their schoolhouse. Teachin' their children? They won't see it as proper."

"They can't see it as anything else," Evie said. She stared at Carol. "I know about your past, Carol. Everybody does. But you changed your life. An' if that isn't a good lesson for every child around here to learn? We're more than what we start life bein'? I don't know what is."

Carol glanced at Daryl. He was watching her, now, quite intently. Her catching his eye must have communicated that she wanted his input on things because he sucked in a breath and then nodded his head.

"I don't push Carol into doin' nothin' she ain't got a mind to do," Daryl said. "She wants to work at the store? I tell her work at the store. She wants to stop workin' at the store? Says she wants to focus on the farm an' whatever she's doin' wifin'? I tell her stop workin' at the store. If she's got a mind to be a schoolteacher an' learn the children what they need to know about—about readin' and writin' and cipherin'? I'ma tell her to do that. But if she don't? I don't push Carol into doin' nothin' she don't got a mind to do."

Carol focused on her own food a moment. She couldn't focus on eating it, because her stomach wasn't at all fond of the idea at the moment, but she could focus on visually picking it apart and identifying its contents for herself. Finally, a little calm settling over her, she looked at Evie.

"I couldn't come into work until my chores are done here on the farm," Carol said. "An' they don't all get done 'til the sun's up. And—I gotta be home in time for makin' supper."

Evie nodded her head.

"And you could set your schedule," Evie said. "It would suit the children fine, I'm sure. Some of them are late to school with my schedule because, like you, they're coming from doing chores on the farm. And it's more of a walk for them than it is for me from boarding."

"She's gonna be comin' from farther out," Joseph offered, "after we get married. Ain't makin' her move out to the claim with me, but I was gonna build a house outside of town. Bought some land there. Just somewhere for livin'. Somewhere for me to come in—keep from livin' in a tent all the time like I been doin'. But it's gonna be more of a walk for her of a mornin'."

Carol looked at Daryl.

"You're just gettin' used to me not workin' again," Carol said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"And I reckon I'll get used to you workin' again," Daryl said. "If it's what'cha wanna do."

Carol looked back at Evie.

"You're sure the parents don't mind?" Carol asked.

"You'll teach with me first," Evie said. "So they'll ease into the idea. By the time we leave? I'm sure nobody's gonna mind."

Carol sucked in a breath and let it out, focusing on stilling her nerves.

"OK," she said. She nodded her head. "OK. I'll do it. I guess I'll—I'll be a teacher."


	24. Chapter 24

**AN: Here we are, another chapter.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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On the best days, thirty one students piled into the one-room schoolhouse, all of them ranging in age from six or seven to at least twenty. On the worst days, Carol could count on only having eight or nine that would show up. Most students came dressed in clothing made from bleached shirting fabric, burlap, and flour bags, and a few came in fancy clothes that Carol knew were bought in town. They were farmer's children and miner's children. Some had parents who managed saloons in town and worked game tables. One was the son of the newspaper man in town.

And all of them were different.

Carol's job ranged from teaching them their lessons throughout the day to correcting their work at night while Daryl worked at some project or another that he'd picked up for the farm. She also tied shoes, wiped noses, broke up scuffles in the yard, and helped with garments that caused an unnecessary amount of trouble in the outhouse.

She was greeted with sleepy faces in the morning and she was seen off in the afternoons with smiles and warm hugs that wrapped all the way around her and warmed her heart.

After she released the children, Carol would often take a bit of time to walk with Jubilee into town. If she had purchases that needed to be made, she made them then. If she didn't, she sometimes browsed in the hardware or the general store and thought about things she might like to purchase for her home in the future—already knowing that anything she said she needed, or even simply wanted, would be something that Daryl supported entirely.

When Evie left town with Joseph to be married, Carol took over the school entirely. She slipped easily into her role and not even the children seemed to have any difficulty with the transition. They seemed to like her—and maybe that was because they sensed that she liked them. Carol enjoyed working with them, and she enjoyed greatly the moments when someone so clearly learned something new. She loved to see the growth in them. She enjoyed the changes that they so clearly underwent.

About town, Carol noticed that another shift took place when she took on the role of teacher in town. Walking along the streets, there were still people who would duck their heads in her presence, redirecting their eyes to the ground around them, but there were many more that would tip their hats or nod at her. Parents of the children she taught would speak to her, even if it was just to wish her a nice day, and they would smile in her direction.

Slowly, it seemed, they were starting to see her as more than the woman who had married a respectable man and, by that marriage, had managed to drag her way out of the shame in which she'd once lived.

But Carol wasn't always entirely sure that their kindness was genuine.

One afternoon, Carol ducked into the general store before she headed back in the direction of the farm. Toby followed her inside—seeming to know that he was welcome there even if he had to remain outside of all other establishments—and Mr. Wagner greeted her before he kneeled down to pet the dog and offer him a treat from behind the counter.

There were several other women in the store—few of which Carol knew by name—and they all looked at her when she entered. She heard the whispers between them, but she ignored the hushed sounds.

"What can I do for you, Carol?" Mr. Wagner asked.

"Coffee," Carol said. "I need coffee. Sugar. Soap. And...eighteen yards of that cotton flannel?"

"Eighteen yards," one of the women commented. She closed the space between herself and Carol. Carol didn't miss the quick head to toe glance that she gave her. "That's quite a bit of cloth."

Carol offered her a smile.

"New linens," Carol said.

"Of cotton flannel?" The woman asked.

Carol nodded her head.

"My husband enjoys it," Carol said. "And what my husband enjoys—I try to give him."

The woman laughed at a joke that apparently only belonged to her because Carol saw no humor in what she'd said. She renewed her smile, though, so she didn't seem entirely outside of the conversation.

"So I've heard," the woman offered.

Carol swallowed. She felt her face grow warm.

"I don't know what you mean," Carol said.

The woman shook her head, but she cast a quick glance in the direction of one of the other women. Carol didn't personally know the woman that was speaking to her, but she'd met the other a few times before when she'd been working in that very store.

"Just that...a woman of your profession must know a lot about satisfying husbands," the woman said. "Your own and, perhaps, others?"

Carol sucked in a breath.

She had a choice. She always had a choice. She could run from her past and try to pretend that it never happened—which she found a ridiculous idea since everyone knew that it had—or she could simply face it. It didn't mean, though, that she didn't have to steady herself to face it in the company of others.

She put the smile on as well as she could.

"Maybe you haven't heard," Carol said, "but my profession now is to be a schoolteacher. Prior it was shopkeep here. For Mr. Wagner."

"And before?" The woman asked.

Carol kept the smile.

"Before shouldn't concern you much," Carol said. "Unless, of course, you're worried that your husband was one of the ones who was seekin' out a companion?"

The woman blanched. For all the blood that Carol felt had run to her cheeks, the woman seemed to have lost twice as much. Carol simply held the woman's gaze and focused on maintaining the smile that she was wearing.

The woman's only response, though, was to stammer out something that came out sounding like nothing at all and to rush out of the store—forgetting entirely that she'd probably come there to make some purchase.

"I'm sorry," Carol heard from behind her. She turned to see the woman whose face she recognized. "About—Emily."

Carol could easily assume that the woman who had rushed out of the door, much like a dog with her tail between her legs, was Emily. She renewed her smile and shook her head.

"Don't be," Carol said. "We all got pasts. And—not ever'body knows what got you where you were. Or where you are."

The woman nodded her head.

"You're Carol Dixon. I'm Alma. Alma O'Brien. You teach my son," the woman said, offering her hand.

Carol smiled sincerely at her this time and shook her hand.

"Phillip," Carol said. Alma nodded. "He's a very bright boy. I suppose that he'd be even brighter if I could figure out how to get him to keep from starin' out the window half the day."

Alma laughed.

"He's always planning his escape," Alma said. "My daughter—Cora? She'll be starting to school with you next year. In the fall. She's a lot quieter than Phillip."

Carol nodded.

"I'll look forward to having her," Carol said. "She'll be a welcomed addition, I'm sure."

"Do you have little ones?" Alma asked.

Carol wondered if the question would ever go away. She wondered if it would ever stop haunting her or if, like her old profession, it would always be there as something she had to face day after day—never knowing when it might show up. She shook her head.

"No," Carol said. "No. Not yet. My husband and I are prayin' for our own, but it hasn't come to pass yet."

Alma visibly looked uncomfortable with such a statement. Every woman that Carol told that she was still waiting looked uncomfortable. It seemed like they suddenly looked at her like she was broken. Like she was lacking in some way.

The smile that Alma offered her as an attempt to cover over her expression wasn't as sincere as the one she'd given to her before.

"I'm sure it'll come to pass," Alma offered. "I was married almost a year and a half before Phillip was born."

"Thank you," Carol told her, not sure what else to say. She was grateful when Mr. Wagner interrupted them by calling her name to catch her attention. He offered her the purchases that she'd made wrapped in brown paper and Carol took out her change purse to count out the money she owed him before she took the large bundle in her hands. She might, then, have escaped the store entirely—walking straight out the door—but Alma blocked her way.

"The cotton flannel is nice," Alma said. "And if you've leftover cloth? You could use it to make blankets and clothes for a little one. It's soft. Gentle on their skin. I've used it for both of mine."

"I don't think I'll have much leftover," Carol said. "But—I'll keep it in mind."

"Even if it's not out of this batch," Alma said. "I'm just—tellin' you what I found was nice for mine. Maybe you'll find it nice for yours. When...when it comes to pass, of course."

"Of course," Carol said. Her stomach churned, but she saw that the woman seemed to genuinely feel bad for what she said. She seemed to be honestly seeking some way to make it better and to make some kind of connection between them that wasn't based on having made Carol feel like a lesser-than human being. Despite the difficulty of the subject, it was a welcome contrast to the behavior of Emily. Carol sucked in a breath and decided to try to extend her own olive branch in the storm. "I'm sure Phillip will be at school tomorrow?"

"He don't hardly miss," Alma offered, letting out a breath like she was relieved to have the subject changed with no show of hard feelings. "Not unless it's harvestin' time."

"Understood," Carol said.

"It's hard when we don't got but the one what's old enough to help out on the farm," Alma said. "Lotta work for my husband until there's more help."

Carol nodded her head.

"I understand that too," Carol said. "Maybe—we could have supper sometime? I'm sure our husbands would have a great deal to talk about."

Alma looked uncomfortable, and Carol immediately regretted having made the offer. Alma shook her head gently from side to side, even if her words didn't match up with the gesture that she might not have meant to make at all.

"We could see about it," Alma said. "I mean—maybe some time when things aren't so busy...it's just that there's so much to do on our farm and the house ain't really set for guests..."

Carol quickly tried to reassure her by extending a hand to touch her on the arm.

"Maybe you could ride out to our farm sometime," Carol said. "Have supper there? We'd be happy to have you. If you've got a mind to come."

Alma seemed a little relieved by that offer. She nodded her head and said something about it being a possibility before Carol took her leave of the woman and took her purchases and her dog with her.

Outside, Carol loaded her purchases into Jubilee's saddle bags while Toby danced around at her feet to get her attention. She glanced down at the dog and shook her head at him.

"I got no treats for you," Carol said. "You had all the treats you get until your supper. There ain't no more."

A sharp whistle pierced through the air and Carol looked around for the source of it, the same as anyone in her vicinity did. It rang out once more and then Carol heard her name being called. She smiled to herself when she saw Daryl walking toward her.

"I'm glad I caught'cha," Daryl said. "Need to borrow ya horse."

"Jubilee?" Carol asked.

Daryl walked around the horse and caught Carol, pulling her into him. She went willingly and offered him the kiss that he sought—only a little embarrassed that everyone around them could see the bold and public show of affection.

"How many damn horses you got?" Daryl teased, still holding her against him for a moment.

Carol laughed at him and freed herself from his hold.

"I didn't mean that, Daryl," Carol said. "Just meant—what'cha need her for?"

"We just got us a wagon," Daryl said.

He was beaming. His smile could hardly be contained. It ran from ear to ear.

The wagon was a large purchase and it was one that he'd been putting off. Hershel had said that he could use his rig whenever he needed it, for however long he might need it, but it was more convenient to have one of their own. It would save a trip to the Greene farm every time they realized a wagon would come in handy. Daryl had been saving up for the wagon for a while—and they more than had enough money for one—but it seemed he'd finally up and made the purchase.

"You bought a wagon?" Carol asked.

Daryl hummed and nodded.

"Yep," Daryl said. "Seen you weren't at the schoolhouse. Knew I ain't met you on the road. Figured you come into town. Needed Jubilee. Thought I could take you home in it. If you don't mind ridin' with me."

Carol smiled at him and shook her head.

"Where is it?" Carol asked.

"Down by the livery," Daryl said. "Got Nugget down there already. Figured I'd just walk down here an' see if I couldn't find you. What'cha buy?"

"Not much," Carol said. "Nothin' grand as a wagon. Coffee. Soap. Cloth for linens."

Daryl raised his eyebrows.

"You get some of that soft stuff?" Daryl asked.

Carol smiled to herself and nodded. Miss Jo had leftover cotton flannel from making a few items and she'd given Carol what length she had. Carol had made a nightgown out of what was left and Daryl would nearly beg her to wear it so he could cuddle against her and rub his face on the soft cloth like a child nuzzling a blanket. He loved it so much that Carol didn't care whether or not it was the best cloth for making bedlinens. She was going to make it so that Daryl could sleep nested in the soft fabric every night if that was what brought him pleasure.

"Plenty," Carol said. "You're gonna have a bed fit for royalty."

Daryl's cheeks blushed pink.

"I already do," Daryl said. "You wanna ride to the livery or—you set to walk?"

In response, Carol looped her arm through Daryl's and waited while he untied Jubilee and took them all in the direction of where they'd pick up their new wagon. As they walked, Carol leaned her head against Daryl's shoulder. She let Daryl do the work of nodding his head and offering a greeting to every passerby that offered him one. She simply enjoyed being on his arm in the middle of the street.

She couldn't help but notice, though, how many more people seemed to greet them when they were together than greeted her while she was alone.

Her reputation was improving—and she was starting to get a taste of what it was to be a respected member of the town—but she still had a good way to go. She didn't know, honestly, if she'd ever get there entirely. And she wasn't entirely sure if she cared, one way or another.

At the livery, Carol stood holding her purchases and waited while Daryl talked to the stable manager. She waited while Jubilee was hooked up to their new wagon and she waited for the conversation that Daryl wanted to have with the man took place. Then, she accepted Daryl's hand as he offered her help to get onto the seat beside him. She watched him load Toby in the back, along with her purchases and Jubilee's saddle, and she watched as Daryl took his seat and gathered up the reins.

He looked proud enough to crow, sitting up there beside her, driving his brand new rig.

And Carol felt proud of him.

As they rode back to the house, Carol addressed what had happened in the store. Daryl listened to her as she recounted the details, doing nothing more than nodding his head every now and again to make it clear that he was still listening. When he'd heard it all, he finally spoke.

"Some people don't got the sense that God give mud," Daryl said. "They just mad you was a whore an' smart enough to learn their young'uns what they ain't smart enough to learn 'em themselves."

"Doesn't it bother you, Daryl?" Carol asked.

"That people is dull witted?" Daryl asked.

Carol laughed to herself.

"That I was a whore," Carol said. "That—if I weren't one? Or if you were married to a woman what weren't one? You'd have a respectable wife."

"I got a respectable wife," Daryl said. "You an educated woman. A schoolteacher. An' you don't give me the run around. Do you?"

Carol frowned at him and he smirked at her.

"You know I don't," Carol said.

"Then I got me a respectable wife," Daryl said. "A sight more respectable than a lotta them."

"I was a whore," Carol said. "You can't ignore that."

"Don't ignore it," Daryl said. "Just don't matter."

"How can you say it don't matter?" Carol asked.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"Figure a whore ain't nothin' but a woman," Daryl said. "That's all they is. Women. They workin'...same as you an' me. Just they makin' their livin' they own way. They ain't married—or I don't imagine they are. So they ain't makin' a fool a' no man. Just—women."

Carol laughed to herself.

"You oughta know that don't ever'body think that way, Daryl," Carol said.

Daryl laughed at her then, and flicked the reins to pick up the speed at which Nugget and Jubilee pulled the wagon back toward their home.

"An' you oughta know by now, Carol, that I don't give one damn what ever'body thinks," Daryl responded.


	25. Chapter 25

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **Trigger warning for discussion of abortion. Not super detailed, but still may be difficult if this is a trigger for you.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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As time went on, Carol became aware, somewhere down inside herself, that Evie wasn't coming back from her wedding. Or, at the very least, she wasn't coming back any time soon. Carol watched as the time rolled on and she accepted that she, alone, would be responsible for the education of her students. Everyone else would know it, too, if Evie ever sent the letter, which Carol simply felt was coming, announcing that she and her new husband had decided not to return to the territory. So Carol relaxed into her role.

She learned about the rhythms of her students. She learned, from watching Daryl, what to expect from them as far as attendance went. She could watch his concerns and actions on the farm—listen to his conversation at night—and know whether or not most of her students would make it to the little one-room schoolhouse the following day. On days when there was an energy of expectation and anxiety surrounding Daryl that indicated some work that needed to be done, attendance would be low. On days when Daryl was more relaxed and his conversation turned to other projects, like clearing land, that would help expand the farm, attendance would be high in number.

And Carol learned to react to those rhythms. Instead of admonishing the students for their absences, Carol worked with them. She granted days of vacation whenever it felt truly necessary so that students could work without feeling that they were choosing their future livelihood over an education that they obviously felt was important enough to pursue. When they returned, Carol never found that she was disappointed in them, either. They came back light hearted and ready to continue with their studies. They came back unburdened by worries over the backs of their parents and grandparents.

One day, when Carol hadn't anticipated the absence of all her farm students, she released the others early and sent them home with the lessons that they should do for the night. Admittedly, she was as relieved as they were that the day wouldn't prove as long as usual because she was tired and there were things that she needed to take care of before she rode back to the farm.

Carol left Toby inside the schoolhouse so that he wouldn't follow her. She left Jubilee tied outside in the shade. On foot, Carol walked to town—and then she made her way just outside of it. Carol knew well that there were ways to get to the house without being too visible. She'd used them herself and she knew that many of the so-called "respectable" women in town used them. More of them than would ever admit were Andrea's personal customers and, out of necessity and a drive to make things convenient for her customers, Andrea had established ways to make it look like you were going somewhere else when, in reality, you were making your way to the back entrance of the house.

Carol found the back entrance with ease and knocked on the door. She expected Andrea to answer, but instead she found a working girl that she didn't know. The young woman stared at her for a second and then shook her head.

"Miss Andrea ain't takin' nobody," the woman said. "Come back in a couple weeks."

Carol shook her head and put her hand up to stop the door before it closed in her face.

"I'm not here for that," Carol said. "I'm just here to see Andrea. To talk to her."

The young woman shook her head again.

"She ain't seein' nobody," the woman said. "You heard me."

"I'm a friend," Carol said. "I used to work here. She knows me. She'll see me."

Apparently recognizing that Carol wasn't going to simply leave, the woman stepped back and let Carol into the house. She closed the door behind her.

"She don't wanna see nobody," the woman said.

"She'll see me," Carol insisted. "And if she tells me to leave? I'll do it. But I'm going to see her."

"She ain't gonna like I let you in here," the woman said.

"Then I'll tell her that you didn't have a choice," Carol said. "I know the way to her quarters."

She left the woman there, probably deciding how she might protest Carol's entrance into the establishment, and she made her way to Andrea's room. The door was closed, as it almost always was, and Carol tapped at it to announce her presence. From inside, she heard Andrea's voice and her pulse picked up.

"I'm fine, Sarah," Andrea said. "Leave me be."

"It isn't Sarah," Carol responded. "It's Carol. I need to speak with you. May I come in?"

There was silence from beyond the door. Whether or not she was taking a liberty that wasn't hers to take, Carol turned the knob and opened the door. Nothing about Andrea's room was any different than it had been when Carol had been there before. It was the same room. It was decorated in the same way.

Andrea was in bed. She was sitting, propped against her pillows, and as soon as Carol entered she reached for her cigarette case and selected a cigarette.

She could pretend all she wanted that she was fine—and she probably would—but Carol could immediately tell that she wasn't herself. She wasn't even as put together as she normally looked when she was going to bed for the night—her paint washed off and her hair braided up—and she was visibly covered with a light sheet of sweat.

Carol closed the bedroom door behind her and immediately walked to the bed. On the tiny bedside table, she noticed the bottle of laudanum and the clean glass that had probably been sitting there, unused, for some time. Beside it was another glass and a small jug of water. That appeared to be the only glass that Andrea thought she needed.

"You shouldn't be here," Andrea said. "You have no reason to be here. You need to leave."

In her current condition, Andrea was entirely unable to sound as authoritative as she normally did. She sounded weak and tired. Her attempts at being demanding sounded washed out.

"If I didn't have a reason to be here, I wouldn't be," Carol said. "Although it seems you need _somebody_ here."

A very slight hint of a smile crossed Andrea's lips seconds before she practically swallowed it away. Carol waved away the smoke that hit her nose and turned her stomach slightly and Andrea moved the cigarette a little farther away from Carol in response.

"Someone is going to see you," Andrea said. "If they haven't already. You're a respectable woman, Carol. I heard about it. You got a husband. A good one, from what I hear. A nice farm and a fine house. You're teachin' school." She laughed to herself. "I always knew you coulda been somethin' like that."

"You heard it from Merle," Carol said. Andrea shrugged her shoulders. "I know he comes ever' week without fail. Sometimes in the middle of the week if he can talk himself into a day off and an extra couple dollars from Daryl for work done on the farm."

"It don't matter where I heard it," Andrea said. "As long as it's true. And he might be given to brag, but Merle don't lie."

"You're not seeing anyone?" Carol asked. "Not even Merle?"

Andrea shook her head.

"Not for a bit," Andrea said. "Who would want to see me right now? Besides—can't risk an infection."

Carol swallowed and nodded her head. She'd worked there long enough to know what was ailing Andrea.

"Is it that bad?" Carol asked.

Andrea shook her head and offered Carol the best smile she could. It might have been convincing too, if Carol didn't know what Andrea's eyes usually looked like. She knew them well enough, though, to see they were clouded over with pain—whether it was physical or not, it was hard to tell.

"I just let it go too long," Andrea said. She sucked in a breath and snubbed out her cigarette. "Was my own fault. I just—let it go too long. I'm fine, though, and you should go. You're gonna get found out."

"I come the back way," Carol said. "Didn't nobody see me. And if they did? Don't matter. I can explain myself—and I will, if that's what I gotta do. I come for a reason and if I'm takin' care of a friend? A good friend? While I'm here? How can they say that's wrong and still preach all they go on preachin'?"

Andrea frowned at her.

"If you're here, you might as well sit," Andrea said. "Back and forth too quick will draw attention. What'd you come here for? What do you want?" Carol sat on the edge of the bed, whether or not that's where Andrea was inviting her to sit, and she stared at the bottle on the bedside table. Andrea must have taken her silence for reluctance because she spoke to her again before Carol could answer her questions. "Was Merle lyin'?" Andrea asked. "He ain't good to you?"

Carol smiled to herself and shook her head.

"He's the best to me," Carol said. "I can't be convinced that there was never no better man made in all the world."

"Then what are you doin' here?" Andrea asked.

Carol swallowed.

"He's the best husband that ever I could ask for," Carol said. "And there ain't nothin' I can't tell him. He's willing to hear it all, even if it pains him. But—that doesn't mean I want to cause him unnecessary pain and so—I needed a friend. You're the only one I ever had that, besides Daryl—that I never knowed to judge."

"What do you need?" Andrea asked.

Carol raised her eyebrows at Andrea and gestured with her head toward the table.

"Right now? You to take your medicine," Carol said.

Andrea shook her head.

"You know I don't like it," Andrea said. "People who drink it develop a fondness for it that I'm not keen on having."

Carol laughed to herself.

"So they do to whisky, as well," Carol confirmed. "Yet you've never been against a swallow or two of that when the time called for it." Carol shook her head at Andrea. "I've heard you talkin' to girls before. Plenty of times. Just because you never said it to me don't mean I don't remember what'cha said. Just because your heart's hurting? It don't mean your body's gotta be. You're doing nothin' right by punishin' yourself double."

To drive home her request, Carol poured water into the unused glass and took the laudanum bottle. According to what she'd been taught before, she dropped about ten drops of the liquid into the glass and gently shook the glass before she offered it in Andrea's direction. Andrea tried to refuse it, but finally took it when Carol made it clear that she wasn't backing down from her demands that Andrea drink the liquid. Finally, Andrea did drink it down. Carol knew it would only be a matter of minutes before at least some of Andrea's discomfort was relieved. Some of it, Carol knew, would take a lot longer to pass. There was some pain that only time relieved—if it ever went away.

"Why are you here?" Andrea asked, putting the empty glass on the table where it had sat before. She helped herself to another of her cigarettes and offered Carol one that Carol refused. She didn't deny anyone their use of tobacco, and Daryl quite enjoyed it too, but she didn't care for it. She didn't feel she had to pretend that she did.

"Why did you let it go so long?" Carol asked. "That's not you. You don't never let it go past a week that your moons don't come on you. You know it well enough—it weren't an accident."

Andrea ran her fingers over the blanket and studied it like she wasn't familiar with it and it hadn't been on her bed for a long time.

"I was foolish," Andrea said. "I knew it when it started. Right away I knew it. My moons didn't come and then? They didn't come again. I hid it." She laughed to herself. "Like it was just mine and it weren't gonna have no effect on nobody else. Nobody in this house. I hid it. Kept it to myself. Even hid it from Doc. Told him all was fine when he come by checkin' on the girls. I guess I was thinkin'—I could be a mother. I mean—plenty of women that aren't decent women are mothers, even if they got no business bein' so. And I was thinkin' maybe you run outta chances, ya know? That one day—there's just no more bein' a mother 'cause you didn't take none of the ones you coulda took." She looked at Carol like she expected to see judgement in her eyes. Carol was sure she didn't see any, because there was none that Carol felt there. "I got foolish," Andrea said. "And it weren't until I realized I couldn't hide it any longer that—I knew this ain't no kinda life for a child. And I wouldn't be no kinda mother. So I sent for Doc. He didn't scold. Had Lila hold the cloth over my face—so I don't remember a thing that was happenin' until he woke me up and said it was done. Said I could be up when I felt like it—but guard against infection a couple weeks at least."

"For what it's worth?" Carol offered. "I think you'd be a fine mother."

"A disorderly house ain't no place for a child," Andrea said. Carol shook her head. She couldn't argue with that. Not at all. Andrea sighed. "You didn't come here to hear my woes, Carol. And you didn't come here to make sure I was taking opium. So why'd you come?"

Carol shrugged her shoulders and laughed to herself, though the feeling that squeezed her breath out wasn't really humor.

"I don't even know if it's fit to say," Carol said.

"You come here for a reason," Andrea said. "And you don't stay here longer if you don't tell me that reason. You got a life, Carol, but it ain't here."

"I don't want a life here," Carol said quickly. "That ain't why I come back. Like I told you before. Come lookin' for a friend."

"Then tell me what you need," Andrea said. "And go back to your life."

Carol laughed to herself again. Andrea's voice had hardened just as it always did when she wanted to let any of her "girls" know that she wasn't accepting their disobedience.

"I think I might be expectin' a child," Carol said.

Saying it out loud almost robbed Carol of her air again. She hadn't said it out loud to anyone. Not even to Toby or Jubilee. She hadn't said it out loud to herself, even. She feared saying it out loud. She feared it wouldn't be true, and saying it out loud would be admitting that she _thought_ it was true. It would make it just that much worse when she realized it wasn't.

So she'd been keeping it quiet, inside of her, while she waited for the disappointment that she expected to come when her moons came on her again. But they hadn't come.

Andrea moved around and sat up in the bed.

"I see," Andrea said. "But you're a respectable woman now. A wife. It would be suiting for you to bear your husband a child. It would be... _expected_. You can't be comin' here to expect me to—help you."

Carol shook her head at Andrea.

"I want your help," Carol said. "But—not like that." She sucked in a breath and held it. It felt like her lungs might explode. She felt like she wasn't drawing in enough air. She thought that, maybe if she held it in longer, her lungs might feel like they got all they needed from it. It didn't work as well as she hoped. "If I was to have a baby? Andrea—it'd be such a blessing. I want a baby more'n I've wanted anything since I married Daryl."

"But he don't want it?" Andrea asked.

Carol nodded her head.

"He wants it," Carol said. "Though he don't talk about it like he used to. He's nearly give up talkin' about it. Like he don't wanna think on it if it won't never be true."

"Then what are ya doin' here?" Andrea asked, clearly growing tired of asking the same question over and over again.

Carol shook her head.

"If it weren't true?" Carol said. "An' I told him I thought it was? It'd break his heart, Andrea. Tear up his feelings. And I don't wanna see that. I don't wanna see him hurtin' 'cause I was wrong. Build him up just to tear him down." She tried to ignore the fact that her chest was closing up more and more and that her throat had started to ache like she was choking on something that was nothing more than her own fear. "But I don't have the strength to even walk to the Doc's alone. Can't even ride my horse there. I start shakin'—fearin' that it won't be true. Fearin' that he'll say it never can be. I turn ever' time I get near there. I feel like I need someone to pick me up and carry me in—like my legs don't even work. Because they don't work for me."

"And you want me to carry you?" Andrea asked.

Carol swallowed.

"Not so much in an honest way," Carol said. "But—you got a lotta strength when you need it. And I was hopin' you could see fit to give me some." She shook her head. "But I see it isn't a good time to ask that of you."

"You can't be seen in the street with me," Andrea said. "It won't be proper for you to walk with me. You know that."

"There's a lot in my life that ain't been proper," Carol said. "Lot that's been downright shameful. Walkin' in the street with you? It won't be the worst I've done."

"You know what people will think," Andrea said. "They won't like it."

"Daryl says we don't care what people think," Carol said. "And he ain't never. Don't suppose—if I was to explain it to him. He'd start carin' now. And I know—I don't. If you saw the way they look at me? Their respect isn't sincere, Andrea. And it'll never be. I got a job that I'll keep 'cause there's nobody else to tale it. But if they take it away from me?" Carol shrugged her shoulders. "I'd make out OK. I don't work because I got to work. Daryl takes care of us. We take care of the farm and it takes care of us. I work because I like teachin' the students. But if they don't need me?" She shook her head at Andrea. "If their respect was real? I'd have more friends that were willing to walk with me in the street. But they don't—walk with me, that is. They won't. But you would."

Andrea laughed to herself. She was looking better. The laudanum, for all her dislike of it, was doing what it was supposed to do.

"There's nobody I could say I wouldn't walk through the streets with," Andrea said. "It's never me that turns my head. It's decent people what don't walk with the likes of me."

"I come here for you to walk with me," Carol said. "But—maybe it ain't a good time for you to do that. I can't go alone. My body won't let me. And—I can't hurt Daryl. If it isn't true? If it's never gonna be? It's better to me that I don't never get his hopes high."

Andrea nodded her head. She moved the blanket away from her and it caught under Carol's weight.

"You'll help me get dressed," Andrea said. "The fresh air will do me good, but I can't go out lookin' like I look. Even I got standards."

Carol laughed to herself. Her chest fluttered at the thought of what was to come and her stomach twisted up a little. This afternoon she would either ride home feeling the heaviest that she'd felt in a long while, or she'd ride home so light that Jubilee would likely not even notice her weight. Carol got to her feet and pulled the cover back the rest of the way to free Andrea from the blanket prison that she'd made for herself.

"High ones," Carol said. "Especially for goin' to town. Let's get you dressed and lookin' respectable."


	26. Chapter 26

**AN: Here we go, another chapter.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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For the hour of the day, there had been few people in the streets. Carol couldn't focus on them, one way or another, as she'd walked with Andrea toward the building out of which the town's doctor—simply Doc to everyone—operated when he wasn't going out to see his patients. The people they passed were almost a blur to Carol and her head was swimming to match the feeling in her stomach. If people were staring, they might have had a great deal to stare at. Andrea, herself, drew attention in the streets. Carol felt, too, that she might draw attention if she looked as unwell as she felt. The fact that Andrea naturally took her arm, half-supporting her when her legs started to shake and protest her movement forward, would have been another grand reason to draw the attention of any passers-by.

But somehow they made it to the building and Andrea knocked on the door of the Doc's office with the hand that wasn't holding to Carol like she might bolt and run away.

It was a great stroke of luck that the man happened to be in. He opened the door to them and looked confused for only a moment.

Doc was an older man with tiny spectacles that were meant to sit higher on his nose, but somehow they always worked their way down to the end of it. If he moved his head wrong, he had a habit of dropping them, but years of wearing them that way had almost taught him to anticipate such a thing. His movements to catch them, even when they weren't falling, made him seem to have some kind of nervous tick if a person wasn't aware of what was happening.

"Miss Harrison," he offered, looking at Andrea because he knew her best. Andrea had a long running contract with Doc and, even if much of the town found her profession disagreeable, Doc wasn't a man to judge. Those who needed his care simply needed his care. Besides, Carol knew that Andrea paid Doc a handsome amount of money to retain his services for herself and her girls whenever they might require them.

"Doc," Andrea said, nodding her head at him.

"Are you ill? You could've sent one of the girls," Doc said.

Andrea shook her head.

"I ain't here for me, Doc," Andrea said. "You took care of me as good as I could've asked. I'm here for my friend."

The doctor only then seemed to notice Carol. He redirected his attention in her direction.

"And you're..." he started, turning his attention to Carol.

"About to part company with what I've eaten," Carol offered quickly.

The man grabbed her by the arm and pulled her inside. Andrea followed after her and closed the door to the doctor's office. The doctor gave Carol a bucket and she released the contents of her stomach into it just as she'd warned him she felt prepared to do. Thankfully, at that moment, Andrea took over for her.

"This is Carol," Andrea said. "You might remember her? She used to work for me."

"I know her," the Doc said. "It's just—I thought she'd left your home. I thought..."

"She's married now," Andrea said. "Working in town here as a schoolteacher."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Doc said.

"I think I'm expectin'," Carol said. "But—I weren't never expecting before. Not except—I thought I was the one time and then I wasn't. But that's the only time that I—ever thought I was."

"You treated her a few times when you came around," Andrea said. "But none of those times was she ever actually expecting. At least—not so as there were any tells."

"Are you working with Miss Harrison again?" Doc asked.

Carol shook her head.

"No," she said. "I'm married. Happy to be so. My husband he's—he's a farmer. A good man. Daryl Dixon."

"I've never met him personally," Doc said. "But I believe I've heard the name. I'm—I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Doc—you can leave the profession," Andrea offered, "but the profession don't exactly leave you. Not here. Not in town. Carol was lookin' for someone to bring her here. She don't wanna upset her husband by telling him that there's to be a child if there isn't. I simply acted as her escort. I'm here as a friend, not a madam."

Doc nodded his head and looked at Carol.

"You're not wantin' me to help you rid of it?" Doc asked.

Carol shook her head.

"So much the opposite," Carol said. "I'm wantin'—to know for sure that it's there. To know—it's gonna stay there. At least until it ain't fit to stay there any longer and it comes time for it to be borned."

The doctor opened and closed his mouth for a second like he was having a hard time figuring out the words that he wanted to let come out of it. Then he nodded his head and pushed his spectacles upward on his nose where they would remain for only a short period of time before settling back down to their normal position.

"I see," he said. "Well—I can certainly examine you. Talk with you about what I find. What I think. But you understand Mrs..."

"Dixon," Carol offered, seeing that the man was having a difficult time holding onto her name.

"Mrs. Dixon," the doctor repeated, "that I can't offer you any guarantees. The female body can be tricky—especially when it comes to pregnancy."

"Doc—can't you at least settle her mind a little?" Andrea asked. "We barely made it here for her nearly falling over her own feet. She's gotta know something."

The doctor stared at Andrea and then nodded his head.

"Of course I can examine you to see if you're—showing the signs of pregnancy," Doc said. "I can tell you that."

"And if I'm not?" Carol asked.

"Then I can tell you that you're not?" Doc said, a little confusion settling over his features. He looked to Andrea for clarification, but it was Carol who helped to alleviate his confusion.

"Can you tell me if I will be?" Carol asked. "If—it's possible?"

"Mrs. Dixon, I don't know what the future holds," Doc said. "All I can tell you is what is there. Not what's gonna be. And that's true whether or not you're expecting a child."

Carol nodded at him.

"I understand," Carol said. "Please? I want—I _need_ to know. And it won't be long before I gotta ride back to my home. If I'm not? I'm gonna need time to get myself together. And if I am? I wanna tell my husband."

"Certainly," Doc said. "You'll need to disrobe. Miss Harrison—would you care to wait outside?"

"She can stay," Carol said quickly. She felt her cheeks burn warm at how quick she'd been to insist that he not dismiss Andrea to stand outside the building during his examination. She knew, though, that it wasn't unusual for any of the girls to request that Andrea stay with them while Doc made his rounds at the house. "I want her to stay. She—makes me feel better and...I haven't been gone so long from her house that I've gained some modesty that wouldn't permit her staying."

"Very well," the doctor said. "I'll wash up. You disrobe. Then I'll begin the examination. We'll see if we can't set your mind at ease a little."

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Carol thought that her body might feel like her own again the moment she had an answer one way or another, but it wasn't so. When she left, she still left on Andrea's arm. Her mind was still turning, though now it was turning for an entirely different reason.

"Sweetheart, you said it would be a blessing," Andrea said. "Seems to me that congratulations would be what was in order."

"No—it is," Carol said. "It's just—what if he ain't right?"

Andrea laughed to herself and ran her fingertips over Carol's hand while she stood with their arms interlocked.

"I ain't never knowed Doc to be wrong when he said a baby was set for comin' into this sorry world," Andrea said. "I don't reckon that today's the first he misread."

Carol felt, for the first time, like she might actually break down and cry over the whole situation. Since she'd first suspected it, the tears had felt like they were pressing against the backs of her eyes, but now it felt like they might actually manage to find their way out. The oddest thing about it was that she'd heard the news that she most wanted to hear. She'd heard what she'd dreamed about hearing. Doc had confirmed her suspicions and with all of his poking and prodding, had told her that she was several months into the whole thing already.

For months, it seemed, Carol had been carrying a child that she wasn't even sure about. For months, she and Daryl hadn't know that they were set to be parents. They'd gone about their lives just as if the child wasn't there and set to come.

And still the little thing was there. Still her body hadn't betrayed her. She was able to do—because she was doing it—just what every other woman around her seemed able to do. And she hadn't even known about it.

When she should be the happiest, and when she felt the happiest despite her still-queasy stomach, was also the moment when she felt like the tears that had been threatening to get out would finally escape from her eyes.

"But what if he's wrong?" Carol asked, feeling herself choke on her own tears. She saw Andrea's concern for only a second before the tears blurred her vision. Anyone who saw them then, would've seen the madam wrap her arms around Carol and pull her into a hug.

"But, sweetheart, what if he's _right_?" Andrea asked. "You're gonna be a mama. And it isn't proper for you to cry about it in the street after you said, just an hour past, that it would be the best thing that could happen to you. You ain't wanted a thing more. Now you don't gotta want it."

The comfort from the hug seemed to transfer into Carol's body because she felt some calm there that wasn't there before. She pulled away from Andrea and wiped at her eyes. Her hands were shaking, but she hoped the shaking would subside soon.

"I'm gonna be a mama," Carol said. "And Daryl—he's gonna be a father. I'ma give him that."

Andrea laughed to herself and nodded her head.

"Except in the case of bastards? That's usually how it works," Andrea said. "Shall I leave you here? I can walk back to the house on my own and—you've got to get back to your farm."

Carol shook her head.

"I don't feel steady enough to ride yet," Carol said. "I don't feel steady enough to even—stand here on my own two feet. I didn't know—not for sure—that there was a child this morning and now? I know it's there and I feel almost too frightened to move. Like—knowing it? It'll just be gone."

Andrea visibly swallowed.

"Carol—they're harder to get out than you think, OK?" Andrea offered. "Trust me. It was there this morning just the same as it's been there every single day for months past. And it'll keep on bein' there until it's time for you to bring it into the world." Andrea patted Carol's hand. "But now you gotta go on back to your life."

"Walk with me to the store?" Carol asked. "Just—long enough to make sure my legs don't give out on me?" She laughed to herself. "I know it's a terrible thing to ask and—I already asked so much of you. But I'm just not ready to be alone yet. I'm not ready to make the ride back. I wanna be steady first."

Andrea licked her lips and looked around them. She looked at Carol, the concern still not erased from her features.

"You're sure your husband isn't gonna mind that you were about with me?" Andrea asked.

Carol shook her head. There was still a dull ache in her throat, but the choking sensation of earlier seemed to have past.

"He's gonna be so happy that—he ain't gonna care," Carol said. "And—if they don't want me workin' in their town? They don't gotta have me. Besides—I'm not sure that I'll keep on working. Not if—not once Daryl knows that there's to be a baby. I'm not sure he'll like the idea of me ridin' in every day."

Andrea nodded her head.

"Come on," Andrea said. "I'll walk with you to the store. And then? You'll head on back before it gets dark. It doesn't matter if I'm out all night. But it isn't proper for you. And you don't want to worry your husband."

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So as to limit the amount of disruption that her presence might cause, Andrea stood outside of the general store while Carol went inside. Mr. Wagner allowed Andrea and her working girls to enter his establishment—though some businesses in town required that they remain outside the threshold or enter through a back door—but Andrea had insisted that she didn't wish to disturb any of his current clientele.

Carol knew, though few did, that Andrea had helped _pay_ for the general store. And some years prior, when Mr. Wagner had found himself in something of a difficult situation financially, it had been Andrea that had offered him the money that he needed to keep it running. She wouldn't disrupt his clientele, but none of his clientele realized that they were only there because of her generosity. They failed to realize, without a doubt, how much of the town, itself, was still there because of Andrea's generosity. And they'd rather see her, unworthy as she was to stand in their presence, outside in the street instead of inside a respectable establishment that she'd practically paid for with money earned in what they saw as a shameful manner.

Mr. Wagner's current clientele only consisted of Carol, a man who had nearly tripped over his own boots trying to watch Andrea through the window, and a woman who was trying desperately not to "notice" Carol _or_ Andrea.

Inside the store, Carol carefully combed her way through everything that Mr. Wagner had on offer and, every time that he asked if she was looking for anything in particular, she shook her head at him and thanked him for his interest in helping her. From outside, Andrea apparently put in an order to the man, because he abandoned Carol long enough to wrap up some purchases himself and deliver them to Andrea where she stood waiting.

It was only with the realization that time was ticking on—and that she had no idea what she was there after—that Carol decided to make some sort of selection. She requested, as she often did, thread from Mr. Wagner and several yards each of a few different fabrics that she selected. He approved of her selection, pretended that he hadn't noticed her approach to the business with Andrea, and wrapped up everything she'd requested before he accepted her payment.

Her package in hand, Carol stepped out and found Andrea still standing there, smiling and nodding at every person who passed by. She had a reputation, after all, to live up to. And her reputation was that she was one of the _friendliest_ women in the territory. It was true, but it wasn't always an easy reputation to hold. Still, she was able to act that way, it seemed, even though Carol could tell that the laudanum she'd forced her to drink was beginning to lose its effect.

"Would you like me to walk you back to the house?" Carol asked Andrea as they walked a short distance off from the store.

"I'm seeing you to the school," Andrea said. "Or dreadful near. The house would put you out of your way, Carol, and it'll be dark before long. You've supper to make and a husband to tend."

They continued walking and Carol realized that, in fact, Andrea _was_ slowly leading her back toward the school.

"Andrea—I can't thank you enough for—for coming with me today," Carol said.

Andrea laughed to herself.

"I'm not sure it won't cause you more trouble than it caused me," Andrea said. "But—for what it's worth—you're welcome. You're always welcome. In my home and...in my company. In my life. You're not one of my girls any longer. And I'd never wish to see you as one again. But you'll always be my friend. Even if—the time comes when you don't feel it proper to acknowledge me should you see me in the street."

Carol's chest caught.

"I'd never do that," Carol offered. "Never. I wouldn't turn my head at you."

"You might," Andrea said. "And if you do? I just want you to know that—it'll be OK."

"No," Carol insisted. "I wouldn't and I won't."

Andrea smiled and seemed to dismiss the subject. Silence fell between them as they walked and Carol matched her steps to Andrea's.

"What'd you buy?" Carol asked.

"Some gloves," Andrea said. "Some nice cloth for bedclothes. We don't need it, but Lila enjoys sewing of an evening and—Mr. Wagner appreciates my making purchases."

Carol laughed to herself.

"He appreciates all money," Carol said.

"And he doesn't turn a soul away that wants to spend it," Andrea said. "For that? I'll make my purchases with him when I need to, and sometimes even when I don't need anything." She sucked in a breath. "If I didn't tell you before, congratulations, Carol. You're going to be a wonderful mother. And your husband?"

"Daryl," Carol offered.

"I know," Andrea said. "I remember his name. Merle says it enough. He likes to tell stories after...he likes to pay extra to stay a spell. I don't dictate how he can spend his time." Carol nodded her understanding. Andrea was the kind of whore who believed in giving the customer what they wanted—just as long as they knew that everything came with a price. "Daryl's going to be a wonderful father."

Carol smiled to herself. There was a feeling in her chest like a warm rush of water made its way through her body.

"I know," Carol said. "I'm so excited to tell him. He's going to be—he'll be so happy, Andrea. You can't imagine."

Andrea laughed quietly.

"No," she said. "I can't. But I'm happy for you."

"I can't help but worry, though," Carol said.

"What do you possibly have to be worried about?" Andrea asked.

"What if—what happened before? What if it was to happen again? I mean—Daryl wouldn't deny me like Ed done. He just—he just ain't gonna deny me because I can't give him no child," Carol said. "But what if it happens that way? It's gonna—break his heart."

"It'll break your heart too," Andrea said. "And broken hearts hurt worse than broken bones. I know—I've had both more'n once. But, like the bones, the hearts'll mend. Besides—you don't got a reason to worry, and you shouldn't worry just for the sake of it. Makes you old and sour."

Carol smiled to herself and nodded her head. Walking beside her, Andrea let out a sigh that didn't seem at all related to anything that they were talking about. Thinking that Carol wasn't watching her for the moment, Andrea's facial expression changed too.

"I've kept you out too long," Carol said. "You're tired."

Andrea resumed her more light-hearted expression, but Carol knew now that it wasn't as sincere as she might have believed before.

"I've been tired for as long as I can remember," Andrea said. "You didn't do nothing wrong."

"You're uncomfortable," Carol said. "You don't feel well. I can see it in your eyes. Promise me—you'll drink the laudanum when you get to the house? Have Lila look out for you?"

"I promise you that I'm not your concern," Andrea offered.

"Andrea—can you please make me the promise?" Carol asked.

Andrea sighed.

"I promise you that...I'll drink the laudanum if you promise me that you'll go now," Andrea said. Carol looked up from where she'd been somewhat watching her feet and Andrea's feet while they walked. She hadn't realized that they were at the school. "Go home to your husband. Tell him that you're carryin' his child. And—live your life. And if you'll do that? I'll drink the laudanum tonight when I'm sure the girls are fed and ready for bed."

Carol nodded her head and opened her arms to Andrea. She accepted the hug that Andrea gave her in return for the one that she offered.

"I love you," Andrea said. "You know that. You just keep on knowin' it."

Carol laughed to herself.

"I love you too," she said. "And I'm always gonna."

"Now go love your husband," Andrea said. "Be a good wife." Andrea pushed at Carol to send her in the direction of the schoolhouse so that she could get Toby and Jubilee to head home. Carol glanced back over her shoulder to see if Andrea had left, but she saw her standing there, her package in her hands, watching. "Stop lookin' backward, Carol," Andrea said. "There ain't nothin' to see there but what'cha already seen. You gonna fall over your feet that way."

Carol laughed to herself and turned around.

She wasn't looking backward. Andrea was right. There was nothing to see there that she hadn't already seen before. And she had a lot to look forward to.


	27. Chapter 27

**AN: Here we go, another chapter.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"You got any more of that meat'n gravy?" Daryl asked, his mouth full of the helping that he hadn't quite finished.

Carol nodded at him and got up from the table. She reached for his plate and he sat back allowing her to take it. She served him up what was left and brought his plate back to him, placing it in front of him on the table. He immediately returned his elbows to their original spots and settled in to continue eating.

"What's wrong with ya food?" Daryl asked.

"What?" Carol asked.

"Mine's good," Daryl said. "What's wrong with yours? You hardly touched even a mouthful."

Carol stared at her own plate. Like Daryl said, there was barely any missing from that which she'd served herself. She didn't feel like she could swallow down the food. Her stomach was in knots and she wasn't sure how to unkink them. When she'd gotten home, she'd immediately started preparing supper because she didn't want Daryl to come in from working and find that he had nothing to eat because she'd dawdled too long in town. And then when he'd come in, she'd found that she was absolutely unable to speak. She couldn't force herself into making words of any kind. The most she'd managed were grunts and a few one syllable responses that Daryl had accepted after a long day.

She was excited and terrified all at once. Her brain felt dizzy from running circles after itself. She knew that Daryl would be happy with the news that she had for him—news she'd barely digested herself—but she was afraid that she wouldn't say the right thing. Or, rather, that she'd say the right thing in the wrong way.

And the more she studied over it, the tighter the knots grew that kept her teeth clamped tightly closed against conversation and supper both.

But, noticing her untouched plate, Daryl wasn't going to accept her silence any longer.

"Carol?" Daryl asked. Carol noticed, now, that he'd put his fork down and abandoned his partially eaten biscuit on the side of his plate. "You OK? You lookin' a little peaked."

Carol shook her head at him.

"I'm fine," she managed to get out. "I'm fine...I just...I got somethin' to tell you." She found that once she started the moving forward with her words, they started coming without her having to work for them—even if they were coming out willy nilly and however they might fall from her lips. "I gotta tell you about my day and—I been sittin' here studying over how to tell you everything I gotta say an' I'm knowing that I oughta say it just the right way, but that way isn't comin' to me."

Daryl furrowed his brow at her.

"Just say what it is you gotta say," he said.

He looked far more concerned than Carol meant for him to look and it was all her fault. She knew that. She knew that every other wife who had such news to tell their husband probably did it without half the trouble that she was having—but there were things that she just wasn't good at doing. And telling news, whether it was good or bad, was something she just wasn't any good at doing.

"Spit it out," Daryl said. "Look like you chokin' to death on it!"

His voice picked up, but it wasn't with scolding. It was with concern. If Carol didn't spit out what she had to say, Daryl was likely to come and beat her on the back until she got it up, just the same as if she'd swallowed down a biscuit wrong.

"I let my students go home early today," Carol said. Daryl nodded his head at her. "I went to Andrea's house."

"What?" Daryl asked.

"I went to pay a call," Carol said. "To Andrea. Not—not for nothin' else. Just for callin' on Andrea." Daryl's face relaxed a little. "She weren't well. So I stayed for a bit and tended her. But—finally I asked her to go with me, Daryl. I asked her to walk with me to town. She did. Walked with me into town. We went to the Doc's, Daryl. I weren't sure and I'da asked you to go with me, but I weren't sure of what he was gonna say and I didn't want you missin' part of a day's work if there weren't no need to drag you all the way into town. So I asked her to go with me because I knowed she would go and she wouldn't say nothin' to nobody about it—even if some of the town did see us walkin' together through the street."

"You went to Doc's?" Daryl asked. Carol nodded her head. "She weren't well, so you went to Doc's?"

"Yes and no, Daryl," Carol said. She sucked in a breath and let it out in a huff. She stood up from her chair and walked quickly back to their bedroom where she retrieved the items that she'd bought that day. "She weren't well," Carol said. "But that weren't why we went to Doc's. Went for me."

"You ain't well?" Daryl asked. "'Cause you _are_ lookin' a little peaked."

Carol almost laughed at his confusion. She was sorry for having gotten him so mixed up in everything. But the moment of humor did at least do a little something to help her untangle her nerves. Her hands were still shaking—she noticed it when she looked at the brown paper package she held—but her body was feeling a little less shaky.

Carol sucked in a breath and focused on steadying her nerves. She unwrapped the package as she focused on breathing and apologized in her head to Daryl for the confusion and strain that she was putting him through as he struggled to understand her.

"I'm well, Daryl," Carol said. "At least—as well as can be expected. Went to the Doc's and then I stopped by the general store with Andrea. Made a couple of purchases. See here? You see what I got? Don't you—like it? The soft cloth and the print that's on this. They're pretty lil' flowers, aren't they?"

Daryl looked at the cloth that Carol held out in his direction.

He sighed and shrugged his shoulders.

"Hell—yeah, I reckon," Daryl said. "But ain't we got enough of that? Got all the sheets we need for a while."

Carol nodded her head.

"For us, we do," Carol said. "But I was thinkin' I could use this for blankets. Small ones. And—for some little clothes? It's soft an' you like it 'cause it's so soft so—I figured it might be just about right for makin' some little clothes that was just right for keepin' a little one warm." Carol swallowed and nearly choked on it. She couldn't make eye contact with Daryl right away. She smiled to herself, already imagining the changing expressions that would cross his face as he slowly realized what she was so miserably failing at telling him. "Don't'cha think, Daryl? It would be nice for keepin' a little one warm?"

Carol thought she could hear Daryl swallow from across the table, though he hadn't touched his food since he'd shown concern for her failing appetite.

"Lil' what?" Daryl asked.

Carol laughed to herself. She allowed herself to glance at him then. She wondered if more might be sinking in for him than he was ready to let on to at the moment. He looked every bit as confused as he had before, but there was at least a hint of fear on his features.

And Carol wasn't sure that fear was always an indication of something bad.

"A little person, Daryl," Carol said softly. "A—a baby, Daryl. Don't you think that it'd be nice for keepin' a baby warm? Wrapped right on up to sleep?"

The look of fear slowly began to overtake the look of confusion.

"A baby?" Daryl asked.

Carol nodded her head.

"I reckon it'd be—it'd be fine for a baby," Daryl stammered out. "But—maybe you ought not go makin' clothes for one until...ya know..."

"Until there's gonna be one?" Carol asked, raising her eyebrows at Daryl. She didn't stop her smile from turning up the corners of her mouth. Daryl nodded his head at her. "There's gonna be one, Daryl."

"That what you went to Andrea's for today?" Daryl asked. "Get a—see about gettin'—a baby?"

Now it was Carol who was thinking she might soon have to go and pound Daryl on the back. The food he'd eaten had long since made its way past his throat, but the way that he was swallowing made it seem like he still might choke on it. Carol put the package down in her chair and walked around to stand closer to Daryl. He naturally turned his body toward her.

"I didn't get a baby there, Daryl," Carol said.

"Well I can see that," Daryl barked out. "'Cause there ain't one here, Carol." He looked surprised at his own voice. He mindfully softened his tone. "But'cha asked for one?"

Carol shook her head.

"Didn't have to," Carol said. "'Cause when we went to Doc's? Found out that there was already one. Has been for months. You an' me—we gonna have our own."

Every bit of expression left Daryl's face. Perhaps, with it, went every bit of blood.

"Our own?" Daryl asked.

Carol nodded her head.

"Didn't even know it," Carol said. "Not for sure. I mean—I was just starting to think it might be so, but Doc said that I been expectin' it for months now."

"You mean you..." Daryl said.

Carol nodded her head and smiled at him when he broke off. He didn't say anything to her after that. Not one word. He didn't say that he was happy or surprised.

But he didn't have to, either.

Before Carol was even sure what he was doing, Daryl got to his feet and wrapped his arms around her. He hauled her up off of her feet. He held her against him tightly enough that she held her breath to keep from feeling the constricted feeling in her chest that the hug caused. She smiled at him again when he put her feet on the floor. His eyes were damp. But he'd say it wasn't proper for them to be so, so she figured it wasn't proper for her to say that they were. Despite that, though, he smiled at her and let out his breath like he'd been holding it the whole time that he'd hugged her.

"It prob'ly ain't right joslin' you around like that," Daryl said.

Carol shook her head at him.

"I don't think it matters," she said. "I been riding Jubilee back and forth nearly every day to town. All this time we didn't know that it was there—and we didn't do nothing no different than we always have. Andrea said—they're harder to get out than you would imagine."

Daryl swallowed a few times in rapid succession. Carol watched his throat bob with the action. He nodded his head at her.

"Even so," Daryl said. "I won't do it no more."

"You'll do it all you please," Carol said. "It ain't hurt me. And—I don't think it'd hurt the baby."

Daryl was slightly wide-eyed still, but he nodded again. He gestured toward the chair where Carol had put her package from earlier.

"You oughta sit," Daryl said.

Rather than argue with him about whether or not she really needed to sit, Carol followed his command. She moved the package and sat with it in her lap. He seemed satisfied, but only for a second. He reached a hand toward her plate and Carol noticed that his hands were shaking. Glancing at her own where they rested on the package, Carol noticed that hers had stopped.

"Gotta eat," Daryl said, moving the plate a little. "I don't know—don't know much, but I know that. It ain't right you skippin' supper. Gotta eat'cha food." Carol opened her mouth to tell Daryl that she sincerely didn't feel hungry, but before she could get it out, he seemed to have moved on to the next of his concerns. He reached for the glass in front of her plate and, lifting it to his nose, abandoned it and walked toward the stove. "Don't think buttermilk's what'cha oughta be drinkin'. Can turn the stomach sometimes. Sour and—it'd be better if'n it was fresh."

"I don't need fresh milk, Daryl," Carol protested, but he didn't hear her. He simply gathered up the bucket and went outside with his thoughts. Carol sat at the table and waited on him. She wasn't sure what to do, but she felt like he needed to do whatever it was that he was doing. Daryl needed to tell her to sit in front of a plate full of food that she didn't want to eat, and he needed to get her fresh milk that she didn't want.

And she needed to let him.

When Daryl came back in, he immediately brought her a fresh glass of the milk that he'd gotten from one of their cows. Nan, more than likely, had been more than happy to give him all that he wanted. He put the glass in front of Carol.

"Fresh and warm," Daryl said. "Better'n buttermilk."

Carol caught his hand before he was able to fully pull it away from her.

"I think I got an idea," Carol said. "But you didn't say if you were happy, Daryl. Are you happy?" Carol looked at him and he nodded his head at her. He still looked mildly terrified—like he'd seen a ghost when he'd gone out to milk the cow. "Your hands are shaking," Carol offered softly, squeezing his hand in hers.

"They do that from time to time," Daryl said.

"Are you cold?" Carol asked.

Daryl shook his head.

"No," he said.

"Are you—going to finish your supper?" Carol asked.

"Believe I done ate," Daryl said, shaking his head. Carol nodded her understanding. His nerves, now, were tangling up his insides just as hers had done to her all day long. She smiled at him.

"I'm not hungry, Daryl," Carol said. "What if I was to put our plates out the way and—we were to eat at 'em later if we got hungry?"

Daryl nodded his head. He hadn't tried to pull his hand free from her yet.

"Reckon that'd be all right," Daryl said. "But you oughta drink the milk. It don't stay fresh but for so long."

"What if you were to get some of your tobacco," Carol offered, "and I was to fix you some milk too, and we were to take the chairs and go and sit on the porch? Let everything digest with some fresh air?"

"You didn't eat nothin' to digest," Daryl said.

"Sometimes it's more'n food we gotta digest," Carol responded.

Daryl nodded his head.

"Yeah," he said. "But—let me get the chairs. You ought not to be carryin' 'em."

Carol nodded her acceptance of the plan and she moved the plates out of the way. She fixed Daryl a glass of the fresh milk and she took both glasses in hand to wait while Daryl moved the chairs out to the porch and brought his tobacco pouch out from where he kept it in the top of the pantry. He brought one of the lamps out and, once he was settled into a seat and was rolling something to smoke with his shaky hands, Carol joined him. She held his milk for him until he had a free hand and the state of mind to take it.

"I was gonna learn to make a rocker," Daryl said. "But I ain't done it yet."

"Now we'll need it," Carol said. "For rockin' the little one when he comes."

"You know it's a boy?" Daryl asked. "You can tell?"

"No," Carol said. "But it seems proper, don't it? A son for you?"

Daryl shrugged his shoulders. His cigarette lit, he seemed to be relaxing a little. He finally took the milk from Carol and she tasted her own.

"Ain't thought on it, to be honest," Daryl said.

"Wouldn't you like a son?" Carol asked.

"I'd like just about whatever I got," Daryl said. "Wouldn't you?"

Carol smiled to herself.

"I would," she said. "But a son could be a big help to you. A daughter wouldn't be so much help."

"Be a right good help to you," Daryl said. "And I guess she could spread seed just as good as you can."

"So you're happy?" Carol asked.

"I think I am," Daryl said.

Carol was struck for second, but the sting of it dulled quickly. She realized that Daryl wasn't denying his happiness—he couldn't. It was clear that he was pleased. He was simply saying that he hadn't yet digested everything. And Carol had been worrying over this for the past few days. She'd had most of the day to digest even the Doc's assurance that it was real. It was only natural that Daryl might not have quite had the time to digest it that she had.

And that's what they were doing on the porch. They were digesting things in the fresh air of the evening.

"You think on it a bit," Carol offered. "And then you can let me know."

"I don't know nothin' about babies," Daryl said. He shook his head at her when Carol looked at him. "I don't," he insisted. "Ain't never hardly seen one what wasn't big enough to be up walkin' about."

"I don't know much about them either," Carol admitted. "But—I suppose we'll figure it out. I can—ask Miss Jo about them, don't you think? Find out the important things that I need to know."

"I'ma ask Hershel what I should do," Daryl said. "What I oughta do for you. Because you gonna be needin' things that I don't know nothin' about. It's gonna be needin' things."

"What are the things that it can possibly need?" Carol asked. "I'll make milk for it, Daryl. And we got Nan, besides, that makes more'n enough for us and her calves. I'll make clothes and blankets and—surely Miss Jo'll teach me to make diapers. Keep it fed and clean and warm. I don't suppose babies need much more'n that except for love."

Daryl nodded his head enthusiastically like he liked that Carol already had a prepared list for the baby. It looked, too, like it was relieving a little of the tension that had his nerves on end.

"We can give it all that," Daryl said. "We got all that. I can make it a place to sleep. One of them box things."

"A crib," Carol offered. "I know that. I know it's a crib that they go in. Not a box, Daryl."

"Reckon you knew what I was talkin' about all right," Daryl responded. The first hint of a smile crossed his lips since his nerves had taken over and pushed the expression far off of his face.

"What about—my students, Daryl?" Carol asked.

"What about 'em?" Daryl asked.

"I didn't know how you might feel about me going into town," Carol said. "Riding in of a morning and back of an evening."

"Ain't no doin' it," Daryl said.

The conviction behind his words made Carol sure that she wasn't supposed to argue with him. It was the first thing that he'd said with absolute certainty.

"They don't have a teacher," Carol said. "There's no tellin' when Evie's coming back. I'd be abandoning them."

"Better to abandon them," Daryl said, "then have somethin' happenin' on the road. You ain't ridin' back and forth. Tomorrow I'll ride you in on the wagon. Smoother ride that way an' it don't jostle as bad. You'll tell who needs tellin' that you ain't teachin' no more. Whether it's Evie they go and hunt down or whether they find another teacher—it don't make no never mind to me. You ain't ridin' back and forth. Not carryin' my child. I ain't worryin' about the rest."

"What if they can't find another teacher?" Carol asked. "The children won't have any way to get their lessons."

"Then whoever's findin' a new teacher can learn 'em theyselves," Daryl said. "Or trot on over there to Andrea's and find 'em a whore what can read an' cipher an' let her learn 'em."

Carol nodded her head. It didn't seem likely that Daryl was going to change his mind on this.

"You never told me no before," Carol said.

"I don't like it, neither," Daryl admitted. "But it's gotta be done. Jubilee's a smooth ridin' horse, but it ain't good. I don't even need Hershel to tell me that. You don't need to be trottin' her back and forth from here to there twice a day."

"I'll do whatever you think is best," Carol ceded. It felt odd to say the words. She'd been forced to say them, in one way or another, to her first husband regularly. He'd dictated nearly everything that she did. She'd never said them to Daryl, though. She might have suspected that it would be almost frightening to say them to him—but it wasn't. It actually felt nice.

Carol felt oddly _lighter._

She reached a hand over and found Daryl's. He'd abandoned the milk that he apparently found not at all to his liking for the moment. He squeezed her hand in return.

"We're gonna be parents," Carol said. "You and me. I'm gonna be a mama and...Daryl? You're gonna be a father."

Daryl let out something like a choked laugh.

"I believe that's how it works," Daryl said. "But I ain't certain on that."

Carol laughed to herself.

"Are you mad that—people saw me in the streets with Andrea today?" Carol asked. "Because they're liable to talk."

"People liable to talk anyway," Daryl said. "And I'm just as liable not to listen to 'em."

Carol laughed to herself again.

"You mad that I didn't tell you?" Carol asked. "'Fore I knowed it for sure?"

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"You can't tell someone somethin' you don't know," Daryl said. "Like I can't tell ya—how the hell it works that it rains sometimes on the east field and stays dry on the west. I can't be mad you ain't told me somethin' you didn't know to tell me."

"I asked Andrea to go with me because...well..." Carol stammered out.

"'Cause she's your friend," Daryl finished. Carol hummed her agreement. "You said she was poorly—Doc look at her too? See what was ailin' her?"

"Was a baby that was ailing her too," Carol said. "Was. It ain't now. She didn't keep it. Doc helped her rid of it. Eden ain't no place for children. A house like that? It ain't for raisin' children."

"You ask me," Daryl said, "it weren't no place for nobody. Why I couldn't hardly stand leavin' you there when I had to."

Carol squeezed his hand in response.

"You know it coulda been Merle's baby," Carol said.

Daryl laughed.

"Coulda been damn near anybody's," Daryl said. Carol didn't have an explanation for the reason that the comment sent a quick ache through her stomach.

"He's there a lot, Daryl," Carol said.

"Damn near every day he can get there," Daryl agreed. "Draggin' his ass the whole way there if he's gotta. Just like a dog." He snorted at his own description of his brother.

"He oughta know she's poorly," Carol said. "So he don't think she's turnin' him away 'cause she don't wanna see him no more."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"It'd take more'n turnin' Merle away to get him to leave an establishment he's set on frequentin'," Daryl said. "But if you got a mind to tell him she's poorly, then I reckon you can do it whenever it strikes your fancy. Just—don't be expectin' him to thank you for it."

Carol shook her head, even though Daryl wasn't looking at her.

"I wouldn't," she said. "Daryl?" She asked again, after the quiet had settled around them. "You suppose we could go to bed? Just—I'm tired. I wouldn't mind sleeping a little."

Daryl looked at her and nodded his head. He studied her. In the dim light that the lamp gave off, Carol could see him chewing his lip. He offered no explanation, though, for the stare that he gave her. Instead, he simply nodded his head again.

"You'll be needin' your sleep, I reckon," Daryl said. "You go on and put the water on. I'ma check the barn an' make sure all's secure down there for the night. Then I'll bring the chairs in."

As if to show that there was nothing left to say, Daryl stood up from where he sat and grabbed the lamp. He carried it with him as he walked off the porch.

"Daryl?" Carol called as soon as his feet were free of the porch.

"Yeah?" He called back to her.

"I'm happy I can give you a baby," Carol said. Her stomach tightened a little at the thought of it.

Daryl hummed at her.

"I'm happy you doin' it," Daryl said.

"I love you," Carol said, lowering her voice just slightly. Daryl could still hear her, though. He made a sound in the darkness, the lamp only barely illuminating the lower part of his body where he was holding it.

"Love you too," he said. "Go inside. Get the water on. Damp out here an' you gonna catch a chill."

Carol smiled to herself and got up from the chair. It wasn't damp. And there wasn't a chill to catch out there. But Carol knew what Daryl was trying to say, and she appreciated it more than she could express. So she expressed it the best way she could. She went inside to put the water on to warm while she left Daryl to check the barn.


	28. Chapter 28

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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There was such a thing as calling too late on the farm since everyone had a preference for getting to bed not long after the sun was gone down and supper was finished, but there wasn't much of a problem with calling too early.

Carol and Daryl arrived at the Greene farm while the sun was still somewhat deciding to wake from its slumber. Carol had ridden there with her head leaned against Daryl's shoulder, enjoying something akin to a nap while the wagon rocked her with its motion. She only opened her eyes when she heard him call out to the horses to slow their steps and she felt the wagon rock with the ceasing of forward motion.

When Carol opened her eyes, Daryl was wrapping the reins and Miss Jo was already walking toward the wagon, her apron gathered in her hand, from where she'd been feeding chickens.

"Awful early to come calling," Miss Jo said as she approached the wagon. "I hope it's a friendly call. Somethin' wrong?"

"Ain't exactly a friendly call," Daryl responded. "But it ain't that there's nothin' wrong neither. Not exactly. Hershel about?"

"He's inside," Miss Jo said. "Just rousing the troops for breakfast. Won't you join us? We haven't sat yet."

Daryl shook his head.

"We done ate," Daryl said. "And we'd hate to interrupt your meal, but wouldn't mind bendin' an ear if you could see fit to allow it."

Miss Jo looked between Daryl and Carol, but Carol didn't offer any of her own words. She wouldn't until they were inside and settled—ready to bend the ears of the couple that they'd come seeking out for advice. Miss Jo nodded her head.

"It's fine," Miss Jo said. "Just fine. You'll have a cup of coffee while we eat. Start on in. I won't be a minute followin' you."

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The farmhouse was warm and welcoming. Hershel seated Daryl and Carol before Miss Jo made it in from finishing with her chickens, but by the time she began to pass around the food, their children had joined them at the table with Merle and two other farmhands.

"I would've thought you'd be headed into town," Hershel said after he'd laid a blessing on the food that would carry them all through the day well enough. "Aren't the children expected in for school today?"

"That's part of why we're here," Daryl said. "I'm drivin' Carol in to town today. But she was wantin' to come by an' have a word before we went in."

"You're welcome to all the words you want," Hershel said with a laugh. "So long as they can be finished before I've finished my breakfast."

Daryl nodded his head and looked at the others who were seated at the table. Carol could see, and more than likely Daryl could too, that none of them were interested in the exchange in the slightest. The fried meat and biscuits on offer held much more interest for everyone there.

"We found out yesterday that we're expectin' to have a child," Daryl said.

"You an' Carol?" Merle asked quickly, unapologetic for the biscuit he lost from his mouth in the process.

"Don't know who else it'd be," Daryl responded. "We ain't knowed long. Found out yesterday. Carol went with Andrea to Doc's while she was in town an' I ain't knowed 'til after supper last night."

Hershel was beaming and Carol felt her cheeks run warm at the whole thing. She didn't want to look at any of them for the moment, so she simply studied the white tablecloth in front of her.

"Well, I believe that means that congratulations are in order for you both!" Hershel said. "It's been a long time coming, but everything happens in its time." Daryl hummed and Carol dared to look up from the table cloth only long enough to see Hershel's face drop once more. "Is there something wrong, son?" Hershel asked. "I expected that this would be happy news to you both."

"It is," Daryl insisted. "It is. We happy. We right happy...but..."

"It's awful early in the morning for buts, Daryl," Hershel said.

"Daryl thinks I oughta quit teaching," Carol said. She hadn't meant to interrupt the conversation, but she was anxious to get it out there. She was anxious to say what needed to be said, to hear what needed to be heard, and to deal with things. The sun would be coming up quickly once it got its start and they all had things to do. The mornings were busy times for them all. Her students, she knew, would be arriving soon and they'd be sitting outside, no doubt wondering where she was and why she was late for welcoming them into school.

"I see," Hershel said. "Is it true, Daryl? You think that Carol should give up teaching?"

Daryl glanced at Carol. He somewhat frowned at her and then he looked back at Hershel.

"Is an' it ain't," he said. "I don't got no problem with her teachin'. I don't figure it can do no harm workin' with the students. She ain't come home with much more'n a papercut or a splinter since she started so it ain't exactly treated her bad. She can see worse than that any morning on the farm."

"But you do have a problem?" Hershel pressed.

Daryl nodded his head gently.

"Jubilee's a smooth ridin' horse alright," Daryl said. "But I don't figure it's no good idea havin' Carol trottin' that mare back an' forth from here to town twice a day while she's carryin' no kid. Seems to me it would shake it loose."

"Damn straight it'd shake it loose," Merle said, voicing his opinion from across the table.

"Andrea said they're harder to get out than you imagine," Carol offered. "Doc helped her rid of one not two weeks ago and it weren't no easy passing."

The youngest of their children, Elizabeth or Beth as they often called her, let out something akin to a hiccup and Hershel waved his hand in Carol's direction.

"With all due respect," Hershel said, "we'll have no more talk of that at the breakfast table. Andrea may have been right about one thing, though, and that's that it's harder to let loose of a baby than you might imagine. All things considered, it can be easier too. Daryl's not wrong in suggesting that you shouldn't be riding Jubilee back and forth twice a day, but he's not right, either in suggesting that it's guaranteed to cause somethin' to happen. Still, sometimes it's best to err on the side of caution."

"There is such a thing as being overly cautious," Miss Jo offered. "Perhaps this is one of those situations?"

Hershel looked at his wife and frowned.

Carol gave a quick glance to everyone else that was seated at the table. There was a certain solemnity that had settled over everyone gathered there and a few of them looked slightly drained of blood. Carol hoped she hadn't ruined breakfast for the whole lot of them, but she feared that she had.

"I didn't mean to be the cause of trouble," Carol offered softly. "I only wished to say that, maybe, it wouldn't be so simple as to shake the baby loose while riding back and forth. Doc said I've been expectin' it for a few months now. In all that time it ain't exactly done it no harm."

"Like I told ya this morning," Daryl said, "snakes don't do no harm 'til they bite'cha neither."

"Daryl has a point," Hershel said, his voice strong. "However..." he dropped off for a moment and glanced at his wife. His voice wasn't quite as powerful when he spoke again. "Carol has a point too. A short period of time continuing as she's been livin' probably won't do no harm. But, in my opinion, it'd be best to make other arrangements as soon as you can."

"I ain't askin' for a long time," Carol said. "Just long enough they find someone else to take over for me. Someone to teach the children when I can't be there 'cause I'll be motherin'. There ain't nobody right now. And if I was to go into town today an' tell 'em that I just weren't gonna do it no more? There'd be nobody to help the children get their lessons. We got some that's close to finishing all the way through. It'd be a shame for 'em to have to stop just because they don't have a teacher."

"I'm not wantin' 'em to go without education," Daryl said. "Not if they got a mind to get it and Carol's wantin' to offer it. But—I don't know enough to know what kinda chance we're takin'."

"And so you come to me because you think I can tell you what to do?" Hershel asked.

Daryl nodded his head at the old man.

"Yessir," he said. "At the least, you can tell us what'cha think. We don't ask much more'n that. Neither one of us knows quite what we're doin' here."

Hershel seemed to have lost all interest in his food, but he did pick up his coffee cup and drink from it. He shook his head gently as he put the cup down.

"It's likely I'm no more fit to say what you should do than either of you," he said.

"But you got a sight more children than we do," Daryl offered. "You knowed what to do with them."

"I had a great deal less to do with that than you might think," Hershel said. "My job is and was to provide. It was hardly me that handled bringing my children into the world."

"Carrying children is woman's work," Miss Jo offered. "And it's women who know what's best for them and for their children."

Daryl looked at the woman and Carol looked at Daryl to judge how he might respond. The frustration from earlier was gone from his face, but it was clear that he was still struggling to understand what might be best for them and their promise of a family.

"Then whatta you say?" Daryl asked. "I feel like we're tied up here. We don't know what to do an' it's the first time we ain't sure we agree on somethin' at all."

Miss Jo laughed at that. She got up from where she was seated and walked away. When she returned, she came carrying a coffee pot which she used to refill Hershel's cup before she passed it to her daughter to pass around the table. She took her seat again.

"Why not reach a compromise?" Miss Jo asked. "Sometimes it ain't about agreein' all the way to one side or the other. Sometimes it's about findin' somethin' that looks like even ground you both can stand on."

"What kind of a compromise?" Carol asked.

"You wanna teach them children?" Miss Jo asked.

Carol nodded her head.

"I do," Carol said. "I think they deserve the chance to learn what they wanna learn. I don't wanna deny 'em that just 'cause there isn't a soul to teach them."

"But if it would end this pregnancy?" Miss Jo asked. "If it would cause some harm to your child?"

Carol shook her head.

"Then I'd have to stop," Carol said. "That ain't what I want. It hasn't done me no harm yet, though."

Miss Jo nodded her head. She looked at Daryl.

"Your objection isn't to her teaching, am I right?" Miss Jo asked. "You got no problem with her teaching in town?"

"No ma'am," Daryl said.

"And if she weren't expectin' then you'd let her just keep on doing what she's been doing all the same?" Miss Jo asked.

Daryl nodded.

"Yes ma'am," he responded.

"You think that Jubilee ain't a smooth enough ride? That it?" Miss Jo asked.

Daryl nodded his head again.

"She's a good ridin' mare," Daryl said. "But—it don't mean she don't got a certain bounce to her gait. And it don't mean she ain't never gonna spook."

"But the wagon doesn't worry you?" Miss Jo asked.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders and lifted his thumb to his mouth to nip at the skin there that he chewed at whenever he was working out some problem that was especially puzzling to him.

"Didn't," he said. "Unless you think it oughta."

"What I think is that Carol ought to take the wagon into town," Miss Jo said. "Then she gets to go to the schoolhouse just as she normally would and returns home just the same. She don't get jostled by the horse and you don't gotta worry about it. There's women work up until the birth of their children. I done it myself on the farm. An' there ain't no reason to think that Carol can't do the same if she's a mind to."

"Except Daryl can't part with the horses and the wagon for the whole of the day," Carol offered, already knowing why that particular suggestion wouldn't work. They had, after all, already discussed all of the possible compromises that their imaginations had to offer them.

"The he don't have to," Miss Jo said. "Because it won't be his wagon you'll be goin' to town in of a mornin' or ridin' back in of an evenin'."

"Beg pardon?" Hershel asked, nearly choking on his coffee. He gave into the coughing fit that his lungs requested and Miss Jo reached over and gently pounded him on the back to help him get up the liquid that had threatened to drown him. "Jo—I can't be without a wagon everyday neither."

"You don't gotta be," Miss Jo said with a smile. "Bethie ain't never finished her schoolin'. When Miss Farrows left to go for New York? Bethie stopped goin' and she never went back when they found another teacher."

"Because she's to be married," Hershel said. "And it's unnecessary."

"But Jimmy ain't asked her hand yet," Miss Jo responded. "And it won't hurt her to have an education. I could take the wagon into town of a morning with Carol and Bethie both. I could pick 'em up just the same and take care of what needs doing in town when I go. Carol could keep right on teachin' the children and our own daughter while she's going. When she finishes, she'd be set to take over for Carol so Carol could stop teachin' and focus on raisin' her own."

Carol glanced at Hershel's youngest daughter to see if she might protest. She didn't look like she would protest, but she didn't look like she was all for the suggestion either. She looked like she was trying to disappear from sight as surely as most of the other people seated at the table.

"Beth would take over as the teacher," Hershel said, his words coming out almost as a question and almost as a declaration of what he knew to be fact.

"If Carol was leavin' the role?" Miss Jo said, ignoring entirely that there was anyone present besides herself and her husband. "It'd take care of everything. Carol wouldn't be goin' back an' forth on her own. I could bring the wagon back so you weren't wantin' for it during the day. And Bethie would have a future even if it turns out that Jimmy don't ask her hand in marriage."

Hershel cleared his throat.

"Would you be wanting to teach, Beth? If the chance was there for you?" Hershel asked.

"Jimmy's been talkin' of marriage," Beth offered quietly.

"I weren't callin' into question the young man's intentions," Hershel clarified. "But he hasn't spoken to me about it yet, so I can't put my name to them either. Would you be wanting to teach?"

Beth looked at him and then looked at Carol before she returned her gaze to her father.

"If it wouldn't mean that I couldn't marry, then I would like teachin' as much as I'd like anything else, I suppose," Beth offered.

Maybe it was the best kind of declaration she could make about her possible future.

"Would it suit you, Carol?" Hershel asked. "What Jo sees fit to do?"

Carol nodded her head.

"I think it would be fine," Carol said. "The children wouldn't go without a teacher and I could help Beth the same as Evie helped me."

"Daryl?" Hershel asked. "It suits you?"

Daryl shrugged his his shoulders.

"Suits me fine," Daryl said. "Long as you don't think you'd be put out too much from missin' your wagon twice a day."

Hershel hummed to himself and glanced at his wife.

"It would seem that I'll be fine without it for the time that it takes," Hershel said. "It's settled then. Bethie? Make ready. You should be leaving soon to get to the school. And the rest of us have work to do."

"If it ain't no problem," Merle said quickly, "I believe I'ma catch a ride with the women. I got some things need seein' about in town."

Hershel frowned at him.

"You've work to do, son," Hershel said. "And if Carol isn't riding Jubilee into town anymore? We need to see about taking her down to meet up with that stallion and see how they get along."

Merle nodded his head.

"Promise my chores'll be done 'fore I call it a night," Merle said.

"An' I could stay to see about the stallion," Daryl said. "If it's all the same to you? There's a few things I was hopin' to talk to you about? Private like? What with us havin' a baby an' all."

Hershel sighed.

"Very well," he said. "Carol and Daryl? Congratulations. Carol? I'm sure motherhood'll suit you well. Merle—you're excused for the mornin'. But I expect your chores done before bed or your pay will be lessened accordingly. Daryl? Let's go see a stallion about a certain mare that might catch his eye."

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By the time they made it to the schoolhouse with Merle and Beth in the back of the wagon, most of the children were gone. The few that remained loitered around the small schoolyard and played games with one another while they waited to find out if their teacher was coming or not. As they approached, Miss Jo slowed the wagon. Merle was off the back of it before it had come to a full stop.

"If you've got somewhere to be," Miss Jo called at him, "I'd be fine to drop you there as soon as I've seen Carol an' Beth to the schoolhouse."

"My feet's workin' fine," Merle called back, never stopping his forward progress.

Miss Jo laughed to herself and shook her head.

"I never imagined when Daryl and Merle come to live with us that I'd regard them as my own boys," Miss Jo mused. "But it seems to be what's happened. I suppose he'll really be fine?"

"I've got a feeling he will," Carol offered.

"Elizabeth?" Miss Jo said.

"Yes, Mama?" Beth responded from the back of the wagon.

"Why don't you get the key from Carol and head on over to the schoolhouse. Tell the children that she'll be in shortly?" Miss Jo said.

Carol took the key from her pocket and offered it to the young woman. She had intended to go with her, but it seemed that Miss Jo had other ideas. And since the woman had offered to help her, she didn't think it proper to go against her wishes.

"Yes, Mama," Beth agreed, even as she got off the wagon. In silence, Carol and Miss Jo watched the young woman walking toward the schoolhouse before Miss Jo spoke again.

"I didn't have the opportunity this morning to tell you congratulations," Miss Jo said.

Carol smiled to herself.

"I knew you wished me well," Carol said. "Even if you didn't have the chance to say it."

"You'll be a fine mother," Miss Jo said with a nod of her head. "And Daryl will be a fine father."

"We don't hardly know nothin' about babies," Carol admitted.

"Don't hardly anyone know anything until they learn it," Miss Jo said. She laughed to herself. "You, of all people, ought to know that."

"I just meant that there's nobody to teach us," Carol said.

Miss Jo nodded her head.

"I believe you'll be able to muddle your way through," Miss Jo said. "And if you should find that you can't? I'm sure I can offer you some advice along the way."

"Any advice would be welcome," Carol said.

"My first piece of advice is don't worry it so," Miss Jo said. "Ridin' the horse might not be good for the baby, but neither is the worry. It's there. It made at just the time it was meant to make. It'll come at just the time it's meant to come. Don't worry it so much while you're waiting."

Carol smiled at her.

"Yes ma'am," Carol offered.

"And remember that your husband means well," Miss Jo said. "They always do. Even if they fall a little short of the mark sometimes. He's got the best of intentions."

Carol laughed to herself and nodded her head.

"I know that too," Carol said. "That's why I weren't mad at him. I know he wasn't sayin' no because he didn't want me to have what I wanted. He was sayin' no 'cause he wanted me to have what I needed. He was afraid the two just weren't compatible with one another."

"Then it seems to me that you don't hardly need my help," Miss Jo said, winking at Carol. "But just the same, I'm here to offer it if you should find you do."

"I appreciate it," Carol said. She got down off the wagon then, and turned back to look at Miss Jo, shading her eyes from the brightness of the sun now that it was fully awake. "I thank you for doing this. I know it's a lot to ask when you've got so much else on your plate."

"Nonsense," Miss Jo responded. "To speak honest? I don't have as much faith in Jimmy as I've got in my own boys. Since she quit I wished that Bethie would finish her schoolin'. That she'd have somethin' that's all her own. Bein' a teacher, I think, would suit her better'n bein' a seamstress and that's about all I got to teach her myself."

"Don't sell yourself short," Carol said. "You got more to offer than that."

"Get on in there," Miss Jo said. "I've got a mind to run to town. Check on Merle before I head back to make sure that he ain't into no trouble that he can't get out of."

Carol licked her lips. She shook her head gently at Miss Jo.

"I don't believe he's in no trouble," Carol said. "All the same, I imagine if you were to ride out toward the edge of town? You'd see where he's headed."

Miss Jo nodded her head.

"I believe you might be right," she said. "I'll see you both this afternoon."

With no more farewell than that, the old woman flicked the reins on the wagon and Carol stood and watched her as she drove it away—headed out in the direction that Merle had taken on foot. Then Carol turned and headed into the schoolhouse, ready to focus her attention on the students that had stayed for the day—and the young woman that would, hopefully, someday take her place as the teacher.


	29. Chapter 29

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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For weeks, things went on in a steady and repetitive manner that was soothing to Carol. She woke in the mornings, tended the chickens and milked the cows before Daryl woke, and she prepared his breakfast with enough left over for his lunch before she put some breakfast aside for Toby and Shadow and tossed the scraps in a bucket for Daryl to feed to the pigs. Miss Jo always arrived just after Daryl stepped outside to start whatever work he had in waiting, and Carol rode to town in the company of the old woman and her daughter.

When school let out, Miss Jo was always there with the wagon, waiting on Carol and Beth to be ready for the short journey home. Some days they went into town, but most days they headed straight for home to get supper on the table at both their houses.

All the while, Carol felt like she was constantly aware that somewhere, down deep inside of her, she was busy. She was the busiest that she'd ever been, even if her hands knew nothing of her activity. She was preparing a life—even if she sometimes felt the life was more of a fairytale than a reality. Some nights, in fact, the feeling that it might not even be real got a little overwhelming for her and she tried to calm her mind by busying her hands with tasks like preparing diapers in the manner that Miss Jo had shown her or trying to work clothes from a tiny pattern that the old woman had provided her.

The sickness that Miss Jo had told her might take over her, never had. Carol felt generally well as long as she remained calm and focused on whatever tasks she assigned herself. If she let herself grow anxious, she would feel like she was going to be sick, so she let it serve as a reminder that she'd let herself get too idle and her thoughts were overtaking her. Pushing them out, she could usually manage to push out most of her discomfort.

The only changes, perhaps, that Carol was noticing to her life was that she was feeling a great deal more worn down by everything that she did. Her efforts to stay busy kept her hands and her mind from feeling idle, but they also exhausted her. When she slept, she slept solidly. So much so, in fact, that Daryl had helped to wake her a few days to make sure she got ready in time to meet Miss Jo. Carol tried, though, to make sure that he didn't have to do that because it seemed to make him worry.

At least, that's what Carol assumed was making him worry. He hadn't talked to her much about his concern, but he wore it clearly enough. When Carol pressed him about talking to her, he always insisted that he was fine and all was well, but she knew him well enough to know that maybe he wasn't as fine as he pretended to be.

One evening, after supper, Carol sat on the porch and, by lamplight, patched up a shirt that Daryl had torn while working. Daryl sat a few feet away, smoking his tobacco and looking out at nothing—clearly lost in his thoughts. At their feet, Toby and Shadow slept together and kept watch over them, even though lately the most they'd had to run off from the farm was a troubling fox that had threatened to bother the chickens and had ended up as part of the animals' supper.

Carol didn't stop her work entirely, but she slowed it enough to focus on her words. She slowed it enough to keep stealing glances at Daryl out of the corner of her eye to judge his reactions.

"Seen Mary Williams in town today," Carol said. "We had to go by the hardware. Hershel needed nails and Miss Jo was pickin' 'em up for him."

Daryl hummed at her. He tapped his foot, letting Carol know that she'd broken whatever spell his thoughts had over him and brought him back to their porch from wherever he was off drifting.

"Next time you in," Daryl said, "you might ask if they ain't got some penny nails. Gettin' that wood cut this week and—I don't wanna hold off on makin' it into somethin' 'til it ain't fit to work. Got big ones, but I need the small ones. Nailin' furniture ain't like puttin' up a barn."

Carol nodded her head to herself.

"I'll ask Miss Jo tomorrow if we can step in," Carol said.

Daryl hummed his approval of the plan.

"You buildin'—the crib?" Carol asked.

"Among other things," Daryl said. He yawned dramatically. The yawn was probably sincere, but Daryl had apparently figured that as long as he was going to do it, he might as well do it as grandly as he could. He'd put a little effort behind the yawn that he didn't have to. He scrubbed at his face in response to it.

"The rocker?" Carol asked.

Daryl hummed.

"Couple of 'em. For out here and in there. Hershel says he reckons he could help me with it," Daryl said. "If he can't? Newt does 'em all the time. He'll sure be able to help. Gotta help build a hope chest for Hershel's youngest daughter. The one what's runnin' back an' forth with you?"

"Beth?" Carol asked.

Daryl hummed.

"He asked me if—if I'd help him with it and I ain't in no place to tell him I won't," Daryl said. "Not after all he's put aside to do for me when I asked it."

"She gettin' married after all?" Carol asked. "She didn't say and Miss Jo didn't either."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Not exactly. Not tomorrow," Daryl said. "He ain't even asked yet. But Hershel figures he's got a mind to do it and, if he don't, somebody will. She ain't got a chest and Hershel figures it's about time she got one to start preparing it."

Carol licked her lips and nodded her head.

"If our baby's a girl, Daryl, will you make a chest for her?" Carol asked. "So she's got somethin' to take into her marriage?"

Daryl hummed.

"If it's a girl, I reckon I will," Daryl said. "You might buy hinges while you at the hardware."

"I'll get them tomorrow," Carol said. "When I'm gettin' the nails, Daryl."

"Don't need 'em tomorrow," Daryl said. "But that'll be fine. They'll keep."

"I was sayin' that I seen Mary Williams in town today," Carol said. "At the hardware."

"Don't know her," Daryl said quickly.

"You do," Carol said. "Handsome woman. Her husband works at the livery. Charlie Williams? You know her, Daryl. I know you do."

"Well—if you say I know her," Daryl said, "then I reckon I do. Don't know what good it does me to know her, though."

"She and Charlie are expecting a child, Daryl," Carol said.

Daryl glanced at Carol and then turned his attention to rolling himself another cigarette from his tobacco pouch.

"Must be in the water," Daryl mused.

"She's heavy," Carol said.

"I hear it happens that way," Daryl said with a snort, not looking up from the task he'd given himself.

"She said she's got four more months to run, give or take, before the little one comes into the world," Carol said.

"Ain't Charlie got kids?" Daryl asked. "Like—a lot of 'em? If he's the one I'm thinkin' he is—ain't he got like seven of 'em? All of 'em toe heads."

Carol nodded her head.

"Six or seven," Carol said.

"Then I reckon she'd know," Daryl said. "If she says she's got about four more months before she's set to drop this one...it ain't the first time she's ever figured it before."

"I'm not heavy," Carol said.

Daryl looked at her like he was examining her. He looked at her, for just a second, like he hadn't seen her and didn't know what she looked like. Carol almost felt like shrinking into her chair from the sudden intensity of his gaze. Then he returned to his cigarette and his eyes remained there until he licked it sealed and lit it, placing it between his lips.

"You heavier'n you were," he mused.

"But I'm not heavy like she was," Carol said.

"An' ya ain't her," Daryl said around his cigarette. He shrugged his shoulders. "Do it matter?"

"What if—Daryl I know this is strange to say but—what if there ain't really no baby?" Carol asked. She swallowed a few times in rapid succession. She felt a wave of nausea hit her and she knew it was her own doing. She swallowed it back because it wasn't going away and it wasn't likely to go away until the conversation was done—the whole of it—and all her concerns had been put to bed.

Daryl looked at her and furrowed his brows.

"You think it got shook loose?" Daryl asked.

Carol shook her head.

"It's not like that," Carol said.

"Then if it was there, and it ain't gone nowhere, it's still there," Daryl said. "At least—that's my understandin' of things. Things that's there and don't get gone, is still there. It's just as—just as ridiculous as sayin' what if they ain't no barn there, Carol, when you know good an' well there's a barn there 'cause it ain't burned to the ground."

"It's a baby, not a barn, Daryl," Carol said. "And you can see the barn."

Daryl laughed quietly to himself.

"Not when it gets so dark, you can't," Daryl said. "Not from this porch. But the barn's still there whether I see it or not. I close my eyes? Can't see shit. But I know it's still there. Didn't go away just 'cause I closed my eyes. You think there ain't no baby, Carol? 'Cause you'd be the one to know."

"I don't think there isn't," Carol said. "But I don't feel like I know that there is."

"Doc said there was," Daryl said.

"And that was a month ago, easy," Carol said. "But I don't know that I see any proof."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Was you who told me that it don't work that way," Daryl said. "That you can't see the proof from the word go. And now you tellin' me that it gives you 'cause to fret?"

Carol sighed.

"I'm just impatient, I guess," Carol said. "Miss Jo said—I'd feel sick. I'm hardly ever feelin' sick."

"First damn time I knowed someone to complain about not bein' poorly," Daryl said.

"I'm not complaining," Carol said. "I'm just—how do I know?"

"You just know," Daryl said. "Same as I knowed you would marry me. Turned out to be right. Besides—you heavier'n you was. Your tits is heavier. You lookin' like you ain't a skipped a meal in a while. Reckon it's just takin' its time."

"It's just been on my mind," Carol said.

"Don't worry it," Daryl said. "Like worryin' a splinter that'cha can't get out, Carol. You gonna make it fester or something. You gotta just leave it be until—'til it works its way up to come on out."

"Doesn't mean it isn't on my mind," Carol said. "Just like a splinter. It's on my mind." Daryl hummed at her and repeated his advice about not worrying it. Carol accepted it, finally, and turned the conversation back on him. "What are you worrying about, then?" Carol asked.

"What ain't I worryin' about?" Daryl responded.

"It ain't the farm," Carol said. "There ain't nothin' else you can do to make sure that nothing's gonna turn out no better'n it is, Daryl. Wheat's doing good. Cows are doin' good. But something's worryin' you. I know you." Daryl shrugged his shoulders and returned his gaze to whatever it was that he'd been dedicated to watching beyond the porch. "Are you worried about the baby, Daryl?" Carol asked.

"I know it's there," Daryl said. "I don't need no more proof than that. It's you that's lookin' for the signs that are right in front of your face."

"Maybe you're not worried that it isn't there," Carol said. "But you're worried about it just the same. You worried about it?"

Daryl took his time getting around to answering her. He took his time getting around to even opening his mouth. Carol let him have the time, too. He wasn't getting up and he wasn't suggesting that they go to bed. He wasn't ending the conversation, so that meant that, eventually, he was set on talking about it. He just needed the time to get around to it. Finally, he did speak.

"What was the woman's name what you saw in town?" Daryl asked.

"Mary?" Carol asked. "Mary Williams?"

Daryl nodded his head.

"If her husband's the Charlie I'm thinkin' about," Daryl said. "Then they got a right good number of children. I seen 'em all down at the livery." He leaned forward and made a gesture with his hand, moving it from one side to the other, dropping it an inch each time until he couldn't reach any farther and sat back in his chair. "All lined up. All just a size smaller'n the last. Reckon one comes each year as sure as the snow."

"Lotta people got kids like that," Carol said. "If we were lucky? We would too."

Daryl hummed.

"A man named Richard Grimes come out to Hershel's the other day," Daryl said. "I say that. Been a good three weeks. Maybe a month. Sheriff."

"Hershel in trouble?" Carol asked, her stomach twisting and offering her another wave of nausea and the salty taste that came with it.

Daryl hummed in the negative.

"Come out there to see about a dog for his boy," Daryl said. "See if they had pups an' if they'd be willin' to part with one. But while he was there? Was telliin' about his kids. Got two. They ain't had 'em, neither, like they was steps on a ladder. Boy's a good bit on older'n the girl."

"That happens too," Carol said. "And if it happens that way for us—I hope it isn't a problem. You had some way you wanted it to happen?"

"I don't care," Daryl said. "If they's just the one or...a dozen. That ain't what struck me 'bout his story."

"What was it?" Carol asked.

By now she'd abandoned even pretending that she was mending the shirt, and Daryl had long since finished his cigarette. The hour was growing late and they should both be going to bed. But it was clear that they weren't. Carol had pressed Daryl to speak about what was on his mind, and now that he was speaking? She would stay there and listen to him until the sun came up if that's what she had to do.

"Man said that they had up and figured they weren't gonna have no more babies," Daryl said. "His son's on up and more'n likely you teachin' him."

"What'd you say his name was?" Carol asked.

"Grimes," Daryl said. "Least I think that's what he said. Sheriff in town. Or deputy. I don't know. Try not to know the law that well—but it ain't like it don't change regular neither."

"I've got a boy that's a Grimes," Carol said. "He's about ten."

Daryl nodded his head.

"Probl'y one an' the same," Daryl said. "Said they figured there wouldn't be no more after him because they weren't no more. Just him and didn't no other come along. Except then there was one. A lil' girl. From what he told? She ain't up off the floor yet."

Carol smiled to herself.

"Then I'm sure they're happy," Carol said.

"Would be," Daryl said. "But his wife's dead, Carol."

Carol's stomach clenched again and she looked at Daryl. He was focused hard on whatever it was that he was looking at—though his eyes weren't exactly pointed at anything worth focusing on.

"Dead?" Carol asked.

"Baby come," Daryl said. "Healthy, too. But she—ain't made it. Took to bed when the girl was borned an' she ain't never got back out again."

Carol swallowed.

"Is that what's got you worrying?" Carol asked. "That the sheriff's wife didn't make it through birthing their child?"

Daryl was quiet. Finally, though, Carol saw him give a nod of his head. It was just one nod. A solid nod. But if she hadn't been looking, she'd have missed his silent confession.

"Seems like a good enough thing to worry about to me," Daryl said.

"You're worried about me?" Carol asked.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"Honest?" He asked. Carol hummed at him that honesty, in fact, was what she wanted. "If it was up to me? I'd rather that there weren't no baby," Daryl said. "If—it was up to me an' I was keepin' you or a baby? I'd rather that there just weren't no baby."

Carol's throat ached. She swallowed against the sensation.

"You can't say that, Daryl," Carol said quietly. "You shouldn't say that."

"Not even if it's honest?" Daryl asked. He sighed. "I been knowin' that I shouldn't say it. It's why I ain't said it before."

"It's our baby," Carol said, finding that she almost felt like she was choking. "You just can't say it. You can't say that you don't want it. You can't, Daryl. You can't not want it."

Daryl shook his head.

"Don't mean that I don't want it if we gettin' it together," Daryl said. "Sure I want it. If we gettin' it together? I want it an' I want'cha to have however many of 'em you want. You want a dozen then that's what I want'cha to have. But—I gotta...gotta decide? I love you. And I'da heap rather have you than have a dozen babies."

"I don't know about a dozen babies," Carol said. "I think—we have to start with just the one. It's a good place to start. But it ain't like deciding. It ain't like nobody's gonna tell you that you can pick to have me or you can pick to have the baby. It's about havin' both. Me and the baby."

"Until it ain't," Daryl said. "Until—a man ends up like he done. Two kids an' no wife."

"People die, Daryl," Carol said. "You and me both are gonna die one day. And I could die birthing the baby, but I could die too 'cause I got kicked in the head by a horse. Or you could die 'cause your heart give out in the heat. We could freeze to death, Daryl. All blue and solid out in the cold somewhere. People die."

"I know they do," Daryl said. "I just—I ain't ready for it."

"And I don't know if we ever are," Carol said.

She might have dismissed his concern as something that she couldn't do anything about, but she wasn't going to. He hadn't dismissed her concerns, no matter how trivial or simple they might be. She wasn't in the practice of dismissing his, either.

Carol got up from her seat and put the shirt she'd been holding down on the chair. She walked the few steps that it took to get to Daryl, stepping around the dogs, and she invited herself into his lap without seeking permission. He wrapped his arms around her as she sat and she leaned into him, kissing the side of his face. He rubbed his hands on her and then wrapped his arms tightly around her once more.

"We're just gonna be as careful as we can," Carol said. "We don't get no guarantees. Not that there's gonna be a baby. Not that—you and me are even gonna live to see a baby. We don't get no guarantees. But we're gonna be...as careful as we can."

"I can keep you away from the horses," Daryl said. "So they don't kick you in the head. And I can be sure you—be sure you don't freeze by keepin' a fire goin'. But I can't do nothin' about somethin' we can't even see. Can't even touch. I can't fight somethin' that we don't even get to be sure is real."

"No," Carol said, nuzzling his face and neck. He shivered and she smiled to herself. There wasn't a chill in the air. His shiver had come from the sensations she'd stirred up inside of him. "You can't. You're nothin' but a man, Daryl. A very good man, but a man just the same. And you can't fight death 'cause death don't ever lose. Not to a man. But—just like the splinter? You can't worry death out neither. It's there or it isn't. Simple as that."

"You not worried?" Daryl asked.

Carol laughed to herself.

"About that? No," she said. "You got your worries and I got mine. The important thing, I suppose, is that we're sharing 'em so we don't have to worry them alone. And...maybe there ain't no cause for either of us to worry. Since I married you? Before then, even...since I met you, there ain't been nothin' that ain't gone right. Might not have come easy, and it mighta took its time, but there ain't been a night that I didn't go to bed a little happier'n I was when I woke up that morning."

"Until one day there ain't no more," Daryl said.

"No more days?" Carol asked, trying to clarify where he'd gone in his mind.

Daryl nodded and tightened his arms around her quickly before he let off on the pressure a little.

"No more happy," Daryl said.

Carol swallowed and shifted her weight a little.

"Happy is like love," Carol said. "You don't run out 'cause you can always make more. And it's a good thing, Daryl. Because when the baby gets born? You're gonna have to be makin' a whole lot more of both. Enough to go around. Because you're gonna have to have enough for all of us."

Daryl turned his face and kissed Carol. His lips caught the corner of her mouth and she smiled at the sensation. She looked at him. His expression was still a little pained, but there was some relief on his features. He didn't look as drawn up as he had. Carol offered him a smile and raised her eyebrows.

"It's true," she insisted. "If—if there's really a baby? You gotta be ready for it. Because if you thought makin' enough love and enough happiness for just the two of us was a lotta work? Three's really gonna take a lot. It's liable to be more happiness and more—more love...than one person can hold without busting."

Daryl laughed at her, then, low and quiet in his throat. When he squeezed her that time, it wasn't quite the same as it had been before. It was comfortable and not quite as desperate. He moved one of his hands and rubbed it across her stomach, kneading her body. It was almost uncomfortable, but Carol took it for the comfort that it was meant to provide. Daryl didn't always realize how strong his hands were, but he never meant any of his accidental roughness, and Carol knew that.

"You don't see it," Daryl said. "Because you don't look at you like I look at you. But you gettin' heavy enough."

Carol smiled at him.

"Yeah?" She asked.

"Yeah," Daryl confirmed, nodding his head at her.

"So you think there's a baby to come?" Carol asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Sure as morning, it's coming," Daryl said. "And—speakin' of morning comin'?"

Carol nodded her head, understanding what he was saying before he even said it.

"I'll put the bath water on," Carol said. "Take everything inside."

"You take the lamp inside," Daryl said. "Your sewin'. My tobacco. I'll bring the chairs after I check the barn so just leave 'em out here." Carol nodded her acceptance. "And while you goin'," Daryl said. "Leave your worryin' out here too. It's comin'."

"You leave your worry at the barn then," Carol said. "Because I'm not going anywhere."

Daryl nodded his head and leaned to kiss her. This time, Carol made sure that she met him correctly and she returned the kiss, catching his face in her hand and holding it so that she could deepen the kiss beyond even what he'd intended. She only let him pull away at all because it was late and they'd both lose their breath if she didn't. She stood when he started to stand, and she accepted one more kiss from him when he was on his feet.

"Meant what I said," Daryl said. "There ain't no room for the worryin'. You gettin' bigger, even if you can't see it. And they ain't gonna hardly be room for us both in that bed. Sure ain't gonna be room for the worry too."

Carol smirked at him.

"I meant what I said too," Carol said. "Because if you're bringing all your worry inside? You're gonna have to build me a bigger house. You hear me?"

Daryl laughed quietly.

"Yeah," he said, stepping off the porch to go about his nightly duties. "I heard'ja."


	30. Chapter 30

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl knew that there was nothing that could be done to calm his anxieties about the arrival of their child, and more than that, he knew that he was better off not seeking any counsel from anyone else. At first, when he would go into town, he'd ask nearly everyone he saw for news about births. In his mind, he kept track of what they said—mother and baby are doing well, the baby just wasn't strong enough, the mother just didn't make it. But then, one night when he'd spent half the night with Carol sleeping tucked next to him while lie awake and worried, he realized that his asking them wasn't doing him any good. In fact, his asking them was just keeping him worrying harder and longer than he'd do on his own. So he stopped asking. Because no matter who else lived or died, it wasn't changing his life and it wasn't making it any easier to predict the outcome than asking about the years passed made him able to predict whether or not the weather would be in his favor when it came to the wheat he was growing. He could worry, but the worry wasn't changing anything.

Daryl decided, instead, to do something productive with his worrying. In the mornings, instead of sleeping in, he woke early with Carol to enjoy her company before she had to leave the bed. He ate his breakfast with an outward enthusiasm that was even far beyond the general happiness that he felt, and he reminded himself how important it was to tell her—every chance he got—what he felt she already knew. She was important to him. She was the most important thing that there ever had been for him. And she was a good wife. She was the best wife that she could be. She was the best that he could hope for.

The rest of his worry he poured out in enough sweat that he could've watered all his fields with it. He moved from one task to another without allowing himself time to think beyond the simple contemplation of what needed to be done next. And, with everything fairly well-established on his farm, he usually finished most of the necessary work by the time he sat down to enjoy the lunch that Carol had left him to eat in her absence. His meal finished, he was left to work on the other things that needed to be done but weren't necessarily urgent.

Among those things were simple construction jobs. Daryl repaired the winter wind breaks for the cattle. He built a hope chest for Hershel's daughter. And then, Daryl busied himself with building the bed that their baby would use—a baby he hadn't full made peace with because he wasn't entirely sure that it wasn't a threat. Building the crib, he reasoned, would help him to make peace. Building the crib let his hands shape something that proved he was devoted to this. The promise that the baby would sleep there—and the knowledge that seeing the piece of simple furniture complete would thrill Carol beyond what Daryl could even imagine—felt, to Daryl, like building some sort of piece of wooden insurance that things were going to be fine. Better, even, than they were now.

That's what he had to believe because any other outcome was simply unacceptable to him. Things were going to be fine.

The building seemed to work, too, because Daryl usually found himself in higher spirits when he left off working than he had been when he'd started. The arrival of Carol with Miss Jo let him know that it was time to return to late day chores, and by the time he finished those he was tired and ready for the meal that Carol prepared for him. He was ready to sit at the table with her and listen to her day as she recounted for him stories of children that he'd never seen—or at least that he didn't realize he'd ever seen. He was ready to thank her for a meal that never fell short of his expectations and never failed to fill his belly, and then he was ready to sit with her, in the calm of the evening, and wait for a proper hour to bathe and take her to bed.

Carol's body was changing. The change was subtle at first, but as time progressed, the changes were more pronounced. There was, in Daryl's opinion, undeniable proof of the child that she was busy growing in between her other chores. There was proof that made Carol so happy that Daryl couldn't dare to let on that it caused a stirring up in him that was entirely different than what she was feeling. He couldn't take away her happiness by letting her know that, inside him, it felt like the hope of happiness and the worry of unhappiness had launched into a fight together that would put the likes of any fistfight he'd ever seen to shame.

The worry didn't do anything anyway, unless Daryl put it to good use.

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Carol had kept her concerns to herself after Daryl had done his best to lay them to rest. Her body would, eventually, prove to her that she was carrying a child. Worrying herself when she was bathing over the fact that she couldn't see the proof wasn't going to make it show itself any quicker. Worrying her own skin with her hand—feeling out proof that wasn't there—when she lie in bed after Daryl had gone to sleep wasn't going to make her stomach swell with life any sooner. So on the outside, Carol had practiced patience and calm while, on the inside, she'd worried that it just wasn't true. It just wouldn't be. It was for everyone else. It was never going to be for her.

But then, just as Daryl promised it would, her body began to tell her that her worry was for nothing. At the first sure and visible sign that she was carrying a child, Carol's heart felt like it swelled up to ten times the size that it had been. She felt like it might actually explode. She stood, taking her time bathing, and focused her attention on the fact that, even though she told her muscles to obey her, she could no longer draw her stomach in tight the way that she once could. The rounding softness was simply there to stay—and then, it was growing even more.

Just as she didn't voice her worries, Carol knew that Daryl slept with his. He pretended that everything was fine and he was just going on about his days like he would at any time, but Carol could see the worry there. It was always there. When he slept, Daryl slept more soundly because he was recovering from the great effort of spending his day trying to outrun something that he carried inside himself—just as Carol spent a great deal of effort _chasing_ something she carried inside herself.

The days that Carol didn't teach were different from the days that she did teach because there was less rush surrounding the day. She could linger in bed a little longer—at least until Daryl expressed his desire for breakfast and to start the day. She could love with him as much as she wanted and she could linger at his side while he dozed between the loving, knowing that nobody was coming to get her and there would be no need to explain why they'd dawdled a little longer and made the chickens and pigs fuss a little for their breakfast.

One of those mornings, while Daryl dozed beside her, Carol lie on her back and rubbed her fingers against the back of Daryl's neck to comfort him. The other fingers, she rubbed equally as gently over the swell of her belly that, at this point, was visible enough even in her loosest dress that she would sometimes get inquiries about it when she went to town for one thing or another.

The sensation that came over Carol, while she lie there, wasn't painful, but it was new and it was uncomfortable. She felt strange, almost like she'd risen up from the bed and dropped back down. She felt like her stomach sank, though it had no reason to, and it stirred up a feeling of nausea that she swallowed down. The nausea, passing quickly enough, was replaced by the cold, tight feeling of fear as more sensations took over her body.

Carol reached a hand out and shook Daryl quickly. No matter how asleep he was, Daryl tended to wake easily when she wanted him to—especially if she expressed some sense of urgency.

"Daryl, wake up!" Carol said. Her own voice sounded terrified. She didn't realize it would come out so filled with horror until she heard it herself. Her tone sent a shiver down her own spine. "Daryl...something's wrong."

Daryl sat up on his elbow almost instantly and stared at her. The sleep was still in his eyes, but he was with her. He was ready to respond, as soon as he knew what was expected of him, though Carol feared there was little that he could do for her.

"What's wrong?" Daryl asked. "Animals? I don't hear nothin' except some cows lowin'."

"Baby," Carol said. "Daryl—there's something wrong. With the baby."

He furrowed his brow at her.

"What?" He asked.

"Something's happening," Carol said. "To me. I felt it just now. Daryl—I think somethin's wrong. I don't know if—if we oughta get Doc or...Miss Jo."

Daryl sat all the way up.

"You hurtin'?" Daryl asked, true concern washing over his features. "You gotta breathe. Just suck it in an' blow it out. If you don't breathe we in a real world a' shit, Carol."

Carol realized she wasn't breathing normally. Daryl's reminder made her check herself and focus on the taking in and letting out of air. Suddenly, the same sensation she'd felt before came over. Her stomach felt like it dropped and she reached out, grabbing Daryl's arm and pressed his hand to her stomach. He stared wide eyed at her until the same sensation of the light bumping that followed the drop took over.

And then, at a moment when she was nearly overcome with horror, Daryl smiled at her. At first his smile was only the twitching, turning up of one corner of his mouth, but then it spread to take over his face a little more. Carol couldn't even react to his entirely inappropriate expression. All she could do was release some sounds that came out like quick squawks of disapproval. Daryl laughed at her and rubbed his hand over her belly a little roughly so that her whole body rocked in response. The sensation of his hard-pressing rub did nothing more than to stir up more of the lighter sensations from inside her.

"Moving," Daryl said, blowing out a breath that he'd apparently been holding while he'd been focusing on telling her to breathe. "Movin' Carol. That what was wrong?"

Carol shook her head.

"It was different," Carol said.

Daryl raised his eyebrows.

"Different how?" Daryl asked.

"Hard," Carol said. "Heavy. Strong."

"You askin' or you tellin'?" Daryl asked.

Carol could feel herself calming down. Strangely enough, the fact that Daryl wasn't concerned made her feel less concerned. Her heart wasn't pounding as hard in her chest and the tightness was starting to untangle itself. The warmth of Daryl's hand against her belly felt like it was tugging her back into a reality that she'd started to abandon for a moment.

She no longer felt like there was anything wrong. In fact, she almost couldn't remember why she'd felt like there was something wrong to begin with. She focused, again, on the breathing that she tended to let get away from her in moments like that, just as Daryl wanted her to do.

"I didn't feel it like that before," Carol said. She shook her head against the pillow. The tightness leaving also left the feeling of tears at her eyes that her own concern had stirred up. "I didn't feel it hard like that."

"Hershel asked me was it movin' yet," Daryl said. "Said they's some move sooner'n others, but it oughta be rollin' around soon like a pig in the mud."

Carol laughed in spite of herself.

"Yeah," she said, breathing out the word. "That's actually—it's kind of what it felt like. Like rolling around."

Daryl nodded his head. He moved his hand, but not to lift it from her body. Instead he just made circles around the swollen area that she was usually so proud of.

"I can tell Hershel next time he asks that it's movin' around," Daryl mused. "Good. S'posed to. S'posed to worry if it don't, not if it do. Rollin' 'round in there means it's good. Happy. Gettin' big and strong and ain't gonna be one of them weak ones what don't..."

Daryl stopped.

As soon as he stopped speaking so abruptly, he got a look like he'd been bit by something. Something had surprised him. The look faded quickly, but not quickly enough that Carol didn't see it. It left behind a blanching over Daryl's skin that he couldn't have gotten to pass as quickly as he could the expression.

"Weak ones that don't what, Daryl?" Carol asked.

Daryl shook his head.

"Don't matter," Daryl said. "It ain't weak. Not if it was stirrin' you up like I thought you was gonna tell me that there was a pack a' damn wolves outside. Baby's just fine. Just up before we is and prob'ly wonderin' what's got us draggin' our feet so long with breakfast."

Carol pushed herself up on her elbows.

"I can make you breakfast," Carol said. "If you're feelin' hungry. I didn't get up to make it because I weren't sure you were ready to get up."

Daryl shook his head at her.

"I ain't scoldin'," he said. "An' you need to eat it just as much as I do. More, even. I get hungry it's just me I'm makin' wait. You makin' yourself wait an' the baby too. Figure that's what the rollin' around is. Reminding you that you got more business outta the bed and doin' what'cha gotta do than you got in the bed lettin' it go hungry."

Carol's stomach did a twist that was all its own, then. It was a familiar feeling as realization sunk in over her. What Daryl was experiencing was as new for him, in that moment, as the earlier sensation had been for her. He was worried, but this time it wasn't just about the future and the potential threat that delivering the baby held for Carol. This time, Daryl was thinking about the baby itself as something more than just a threat that he couldn't truly see or touch.

And even though Carol hated for him to worry, she was relieved, in some ways, to see the new worry that was taking place inside of Daryl. To soothe it, though, she offered him the best smile she could and she reached to touch his cheek, inviting him to come and get the soft kiss that she offered him. He leaned to meet her and accept the offer made.

"I think the baby's fine," Carol said. She nodded her head at Daryl. "Like you said, it's strong. Bein' just a little tardy with the breakfast ain't gonna cause no harm that can't be undone with eating." She sucked in a breath, held it for a second, and let it out to gauge her own feelings. She was calm. She could feel it. The earlier worry was gone. In fact, for just a moment, Carol couldn't find any worry within herself. For just that moment, everything seemed like it was nothing more and nothing less than just _right_ and _well_. "Just moving," Carol said, smiling to herself. "Growing and strong and moving—'cause I spent too long in the bed instead of lookin' to what I shoulda been doing."

Daryl nodded his head like he agreed, though he made no effort to get out of the bed. He wouldn't, either, until she did. He might suggest they get up, but he never went through with it until Carol did.

"Yeah," he agreed quietly.

"You can tell Hershel that the baby's moving," Carol said. "I supposed he'll be glad to hear it since Miss Jo's often askin' me the same thing."

Daryl smiled a little to himself. It was a much softer smile than the smile of realization that he'd worn earlier. It was nice to see it, though, because it meant that the worrying must be unknotting itself inside of him the same as it was inside of Carol. Carol sat up the rest of the way in the bed.

"Did you feel it?" Carol asked. "Could you? When it was moving?"

Daryl nodded his head again.

"Yeah," he said, the little turn-up at the corner of his mouth not fading.

Carol smiled in response.

"Did you like it?" She asked.

"It was alright," Daryl said. "I reckon. Doin' what it's s'posed to do. Like it's s'posed to do." He raised his eyebrows at her in question. "You alright now?"

Carol nodded her head.

"I am," she assured him. "I guess I just got a start. I wasn't expecting it. That's all. But I'm alright now. It's alright."

Daryl nodded his head once more.

"Good," he said. "Now—let's get some breakfast. I got some work I gotta get done an' it ain't doin' none of us a world of good wastin' the day here in the bed."

Carol laughed to herself at the change in Daryl's tone. It was definitive. He could be convinced to linger with her for a while, but when he was done? It was time to get back to life as they knew it. And he was right. Now that she was up, Carol could feel her stomach starting to request that she ate breakfast and she could feel the slightly heavy weight descending over her as her mind began to remind her of all the things that she had to do in the day. Still, she lingered a moment more to lean into him and kiss Daryl, much more deeply than before, and to accept the kiss that he offered her when he brought his hands up to tug at her curls and pull her closer into him.

"I don't think we wasted any time," Carol said, pulling away from him. "Just—spent what we needed to."

Daryl laughed quietly and nodded.

"You might be right," he said.

"Get dressed," Carol said, finally starting to move out of the bed so that Daryl would follow suit and their day could begin just as every other day began. "I'll make us some breakfast."


	31. Chapter 31

**AN: Here we go, another chapter.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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 _Social gathering._

Even the words made Daryl cringe a little. Both of them, he knew, meant people—and more than the few to which he'd become accustomed.

What was worse about this particular social gathering was that he wasn't entirely sure how he could escape it. It was supposed to take place at his very own home. His home that he built for his wife and his family and not at all for the people to which he wasn't accustomed.

At the first mention of such a form of torture, Daryl had excused himself from Carol's presence with a list of chores that needed to be taken care of—and the list was true, even if his intention included a few things he omitted—and rode out to the Greene farm to seek Hershel's counsel on the whole thing. When he'd presented it to Hershel, who must have been fairly well informed since his wife and youngest daughter were somewhat behind the gathering, the old man had simply laughed at him.

"It's just tea, Daryl," Hershel said. "And nobody's gonna expect you to be there. It's just for ladies."

"Why the hell they can't drink tea in they own homes?" Daryl asked. To make himself useful, he put himself to work helping Hershel load up the bags that he was trying to get into the back of the wagon. He'd consider Hershel's information as payment for the job at this point.

"Well, they can," Hershel said. "But Jo believes that maybe Carol needs a little more introduction into society. She hasn't exactly made a lot of acquaintances. She'll be leaving the school soon and Bethie will be taking over in her absence and, well, Jo just thinks it might be a good time to make sure that Carol gets properly introduced into society. Once the baby comes she might want to entertain some guests. Some ladies, Daryl. Women like that. They enjoy fussing over their babies with other women. Especially when it's their first."

"I don't even know that we got no tea, Hershel," Daryl pointed out. "I mean we got water and we got coffee, but Carol don't make tea regular. I can't say as I've had none."

Hershel laughed.

"Don't worry, Jo will take care of the tea and the food," Hershel assured him. "Knowing Jo? She'll take care of the whole thing so Carol don't have to worry with it. The worry isn't good for the baby and the tea isn't meant to cause worry."

"What if our house ain't right?" Daryl asked. "What if they don't like the house an' they don't like the tea?"

Hershel stopped loading bags into the back of the wagon and wiped his face with an old cloth that he pulled from his pocket.

"What's your real concern?" Hershel asked. "You started it to be that you didn't want to go and I've told you that you're not expected to be there. It isn't proper for you to be there. But it sounds to me that you got other things on your mind, son."

Daryl swallowed and his spit nearly caught in his dry throat. He shook his head at Hershel.

"What if they tell Carol it ain't good enough?" Daryl asked.

Hershel raised his eyebrows at Daryl.

"You mean what if they tell Carol you aren't good enough?" Hershel asked.

Daryl nodded his head because he wasn't sure that he could find the voice to say any words in response. Hershel shook his head in response.

"They won't," Hershel said. "At least—they won't say it there and they won't say it to her. I'm gonna be honest with you, son. A gaggle of women like that is a dangerous thing. I'd much rather walk right into a nest of rattle snakes than a room full of social women."

Daryl nodded his head.

"I think I'm kinda feelin' the same way," Daryl said.

Hershel laughed at him.

"At least with the snakes, you know what you're dealing with," Hershel mused. "You know they got intentions and when they start rattlin'? They makin' 'em known. But women don't work that way. Especially not a certain type of woman."

"They's more'n one type?" Daryl asked.

Hershel laughed again and nodded his head.

"They's a lotta types," Hershel assured him. "An' Carol—she's a type that ain't even quite the type as Jo and Bethie. And Jo and Bethie? Well—let's just say they can pretend when the pretendin' matters, but they ain't the type of some of these women."

"You ain't worried?" Daryl asked.

Hershel shook his head.

"No," Hershel said. "These women—if they don't like something? They don't say it. Not to nobody's face. Not regular. They wait and _tit tit tit_ it behind their backs."

Daryl laughed at Hershel's quick interpretation of the tittering women. It was the first moment since he'd heard about the social gathering that he'd felt even the slightest bit of humor.

"Then why the hell they do it?" Daryl asked. "Gotta be damn miserable to have them types in ya home."

Hershel shrugged his shoulders.

"Another grand mystery of women, Daryl," Hershel said. "But I'll tell you one thing, you'll live a lot longer if you don't spend your time trying to understand everything they do. Just focus on the important things and—let the rest just kinda roll on by you."

Daryl nodded his head, still not entirely relieved, but feeling better. He quickly reached for another bag and loaded it into the wagon, deciding that working his way through the concern was the best way to handle it at this point.

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"Keep 'em shut, woman! You gonna ruin the surprise!" Daryl walked behind Carol and directed her into the barn. She kept laughing at him, opening her eyes and looking at him, which was fine while they were crossing the yard, but he wanted her to be surprised, at least for a second, when she saw the crib.

"I'ma fall down!" Carol insisted. "I can't walk with my eyes closed!"

"Won't let'cha fall," Daryl insisted. "Never. Just keep 'em closed a couple steps more."

Daryl walked her into the barn and adjusted her so that she was standing right where he wanted her. She had a smile on her face, but she was doing what he asked and she was holding her eyes closed. She turned her face in one direction and then another.

"I know we're in the barn, Daryl," Carol said. "You gonna show me that I haven't mucked the stalls? Because you told me that I didn't have to do that until the baby comes."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I mucked 'em," Daryl said. He leaned and pressed his lips to hers. With her eyes still closed, Carol found his face with her hands and held him as she returned the kiss, deepening it more than he intended. He wasn't complaining, though, and he let it turn into what she wanted it to be. When she broke from him, she laughed to herself.

"You brought me down here to kiss me with my eyes closed?" She asked. "Because I'da let you do that at the house too."

Daryl laughed in response and used his own hands to turn her face. She leaned her cheek into his palm, when he touched her, and nuzzled his hand, planting a soft kiss there.

"Open 'em now," Daryl said.

He'd moved the crib there out of the little shed he'd been working in before because it gave him more room to work and it was more protected when it rained. Carol hadn't been to the barn since the heaviness she'd worried would never come had really started to weigh her down. Daryl figured that mucking stalls and dealing with horses wasn't the best thing for her when her balance, these days, was questionable at best.

A broad smile covered Carol's face at the exact moment that she saw the crib. She brought her hand up to cover her mouth. Daryl could see the start of tears pooling in her eyes.

"Don't cry over it!" Daryl declared. His request was too late, though. Some of the tears dropped down to Carol's cheeks. She shook her head at him.

"You made it?" Carol asked.

"Course I made it," Daryl responded. "Took me longer'n I figured it would. Wanted it to be just right. It's good, though. Sturdy an' strong. I didn't want it fallin', so I tested it out. Got both Shadow an' Toby in there—damn near fightin' with each other 'cause they didn't know it wasn't no game—an' it held. This baby's gonna be big an' strong, but I don't think it's gonna be no bigger'n two grown ass cattle mutts."

Carol laughed and wiped at her eyes with her hand. Daryl pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and mopped at her face before he held it to her nose and commanded to her that she ought to blow her nose so she could breathe regularly again. She followed his instructions, apologizing for her tears as she did.

"It's so beautiful," Carol said. "It's—it's perfect."

"You can touch it," Daryl said. "Gonna clean it up some and Merle's comin' by to help me move it in the house tomorrow mornin'. Figure you got all them hens comin' in the house you might wanta show 'em you got a crib for the baby. The rockin' chair's comin', but Newt's gotta put the rockers on it for me 'cause I couldn't get it just right and he's good at that part so Hershel said."

Carol walked forward and ran her fingers over the bars of the crib. She ran them over the inside of it like she was afraid that if she didn't touch it, it might not fully exist. Daryl didn't mind her running her fingers anywhere she liked. He'd traced the thing a hundred times over while he was sanding it down because he wanted to be sure that it wouldn't make splinters.

"I don't know if I can show it to 'em," Carol said. "They might think I was being boastful."

Daryl felt proud, for just a second, to think that Carol would think that something he made was enough to make her boastful—especially in front of whatever women it was that Miss Jo might have invited to have tea with her. But then the reality settled in around him from the conversation that he'd had with Hershel about some of the people who lived around them in town.

"They prob'ly got a whole lot better," Daryl said. "Store bought an' all. Nicer'n this one."

"It can't be nicer," Carol said. "You didn't build them."

"Listen," Daryl said, "if these women was to—tell you that I weren't...well, that this ain't..."

Daryl stopped because he couldn't say what he wanted to say. He wasn't even sure that he knew exactly what he wanted to say. He had an idea in his head, and he wanted to give that idea to Carol, but it would've been a whole lot easier if he'd simply been able to take it out in its entirety and hand it to her instead of having to break it down into pieces and turn those pieces into words. Carol looked at him, though, and shook her head.

"You don't have to say nothin'," Carol said. She shook her head again. "You don't. They can't tell me nothing, Daryl."

Daryl swallowed.

"I got no name to speak of," Daryl said. "You know that. I weren't nothin' when I got on that wagon an' I come here."

Carol smiled at him.

"And now you're a farmer," Carol said. "And quite well known in town. Hard working. Successful. Respected." Daryl shook his head at her and she mirrored the action. "I'm nothing but a whore, Daryl," she said. "The painting's different and my dress is changed, but that's what they're gonna see. And I know that. I'm just...a whore in a farmhouse instead of a whorehouse."

"You're a teacher," Daryl said. "And you ain't a whore. You're my wife. My own wife."

Carol laughed to herself and nodded her head. She raised her eyebrows at Daryl.

"And you're my husband," Carol said. "My own husband," she added. "And—no matter what they say or think? I suppose that'll hold true. And that's all that matters to me."

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Carol hadn't really known what to expect from the gathering, but she took it to be more for Beth than for herself. Hershel had come by early with his wagon and he'd brought enough furniture for everyone to have a place to sit since Carol and Daryl hadn't exactly filled their home yet with furnishings. Before the women had arrived, Carol had mused to herself that her home looked more like the Greene house than her own home since nearly everything there had been borrowed for the occasion. Still, the gathering would introduce Beth to the women and it would help her to establish herself a little. It might, even, help her to find a husband, in someone they knew, that was a little more anxious to commit than the young gentleman she was hanging her hopes and dreams on at the moment.

The women who came were women that Carol knew only in name and by sight. She couldn't call any of them a friend and she didn't expect that to change just because they'd eaten food and drank tea in her company. All of them brought her a gift or a trinket as a "hosting" gift and then they'd settled in to sit on the borrowed furniture and exchange gossip about people she knew whose business she preferred not to mind.

Through it all, Carol sat and she smiled and she nodded her head when she felt like something was directed to her. She thanked them for the compliments they paid to her about her house, her furniture, and the crib that she invited a few of them to see, but she didn't believe any of their compliments. And she didn't have much to add to their conversation.

She sat back in one of the comfortable chairs that had been brought and she simply observed—allowing Beth to truly be the center of attention. It was clear, after all, that the young girl was greatly pleased with the gathering of women and the conversation that she was allowed to be involved in so intimately.

When there was a knock at the door, Carol half expected it to be Daryl coming by to ask for something that he'd forgotten. He was working outside, but he was keeping quite a wide berth on the house. Despite Miss Jo's insistence that she could answer the door, Carol got up to answer it because she appreciated the excuse to get away from the crowd of women for even a moment. When she opened the door, she wasn't expecting to see Andrea standing there.

"Andrea!" Carol said, her surprise coming out.

Andrea was dressed down as much as she could be, and she looked around Carol into the house almost like she feared something terrible would come running out behind Carol.

"Merle told me you were havin' a party," Andrea said. "People were bringing gifts, he said? I just..."

She offered Carol a gift that she'd been holding like a security blanket against her chest and Carol took it. She didn't open it, but rather she turned it over in her hands.

"You didn't have to bring me anything," Carol said.

"I wanted to," Andrea responded. "That's all. I wanted to."

"Come in?" Carol asked. "See the house? There's still food left if you're hungry."

Andrea shook her head and looked around Carol again. This time, Carol turned with Andrea's glance and noticed that nearly everyone had stopped speaking and they were all looking in the direction of the door.

"I'm fine out here," Andrea said. "And—I really shouldn't dawdle too long. The girls are fine on their own, but they—they get so..."

Carol realized that Andrea didn't have an excuse, but she was desperately searching for one.

"How'd you get here?" Andrea asked.

Andrea gestured out to the yard and Carol moved enough to see Merle there, sitting on a wagon, watching the whole scene like he didn't know if he should go or he should stay.

"Come inside," Carol said. "We're having pound cake later."

Andrea lowered her voice and shook her head gently at Carol.

"Carol, I don't belong here," Andrea said. "Now—I just wanted to bring you that. Tell you that you look good. You look real good. Happy and—this? All of this? It's a real nice place, Carol. But—I don't belong here."

Carol shook her head at Andrea.

"It's my house," Carol said. "And you belong in my house. You took me into yours. I'm not leavin' you standing on the porch of mine."

Andrea shushed her softly and Carol shook her head. She glanced back over her shoulder. She was fully aware that every one of the women there was looking at both of them. She was fully aware that they were judging them. It was written on their faces as they sat, looking ridiculous, with some of their tea cups suspended in the air like they'd frozen hard as ice in their spots.

Carol shook her head at Andrea again and smiled at her.

"You can't shush me," Carol said. "You don't get to do that no more. You don't boss me now. You're just my friend. Nothin' more and nothin' less. You'll stay—and you'll stay inside. Same as anybody else."

"They won't like it," Andrea said, her voice as low as she could get it, coming out as breath more than sound.

"And I won't care," Carol said. "And Daryl won't care. And—that's all I care about. You're welcome here. You're always welcome here. Even more so than any of them. And I don't care if they know it too."

Carol took Andrea's hand and pulled her inside. Andrea glanced back out the door just as she stepped inside and Carol heard the click of Merle's tongue as he popped the reins against the backs of the horses to urge them forward. Carol had made the decision and he knew, now, what he was meant to do.

As soon as they were inside, Carol closed the door and put the gift that Andrea had given her down on a small table. She introduced Andrea to the women who were staring at her and Andrea offered them all a smile and a slightly awkward wave before Carol guided her to the chair that she'd been sitting in earlier, fully intending to take the seat next to her as soon as she was ready to sit again.

For just a second, everyone was quiet. Nobody breathed a word. But, finally, Miss Jo stood up and warmly smiled at Andrea.

"You'll take some tea?" Miss Jo asked.

Andrea nodded her head.

"With milk and sugar?" Miss Jo asked.

"Just milk," Andrea said. "But I can get it."

Miss Jo shook her head.

"Nonsense," she responded. "You'll be hungry too?"

Andrea looked at Carol and Carol didn't know how to help her. She couldn't very well tell Andrea if she was hungry or not, but it appeared that's what Andrea wanted her to do. Finally, Carol nodded for her.

"Thank you," was the only response that Andrea managed to give Miss Jo and Miss Jo smiled at her before she asked Carol if she could help her select something which Andrea might enjoy from the food that they had left.

"Did I do a bad thing?" Carol asked Miss Jo quietly as she followed the woman to her small kitchen area where the food was laid out. "Are they really so offended?"

Miss Jo sucked in a breath and let it out.

"They might be offended," she answered quietly, going about arranging some food on a plate for Andrea. "But you did nothing that Jesus himself wouldn't approve of—so I just don't see as it can really be all that bad."

"Then why would they be so offended?" Carol whispered back.

Miss Jo frowned and continued with the busy work she'd created for herself of making the plate look as presentable as she could.

"Because," Miss Jo said, "you'll find that a great deal of people aren't very much like Jesus. Can you bring the tea to your friend? I'll carry the plate. It'll be fine. And if it isn't?" Miss Jo cast a glance toward the women and leaned close enough to Carol that Carol could feel the old woman's breath on her face. "You'll find it's worth more in this life to have one true friend than it is to have the false love of a hundred."

She backed up and searched Carol's face and Carol nodded at her.

"I know," Carol said.

Miss Jo smiled at her and winked her eye.

"And you can already count yourself among the richest because I know you've got more than one," Miss Jo said. "Bring the tea. Just milk. She doesn't take sugar."


	32. Chapter 32

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **Five or six more chapters here, give or take on how they play out from my plans. Things are always subject to change at least a little.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl believed in letting Carol do what she wanted to do as long it didn't hurt either of them—and it never hurt either of them. He believed, even more than letting her do what she wanted to do, in letting her do what she needed to do. But the same rules still applied.

When Carol first showed signs of getting sick—a cough that was unexplained and some sniffling that usually came with a slight change in weather—Daryl didn't press her too much about changing what she did or how she did things. As long as she felt good enough to work, he was fine with her working up until it was time to welcome the baby into the world. The first morning that he woke up, though, with her lying next to him and realized that she'd overslept—and was still sleeping soundly—only to find that she was a little warmer to the touch than she normally was, Daryl decided it was time for a change in the way that things happened.

He'd informed Miss Jo, himself, that Carol was officially resigning from her position as a teacher. Beth was ready to take over and it was her role to have, just as they'd planned. Carol was going to dedicate herself to preparing for their new arrival, and once the baby came she would have responsibilities that would keep her far too occupied to focus on anything else. Then he'd gone inside, informed Carol that she was best to stay in bed. When she hadn't protested at all, not even to insist that she needed to make him breakfast, Daryl knew that she didn't feel well. He'd immediately saddled Nugget and taken the sorrel to town to find the doctor.

The man wasn't hard to find, and he'd seen Daryl immediately.

"I can ride out there," Doc said. "Of course I can. But with the winter coming, there's more than enough sickness going around that she likely just picked something up from one of her students. I've seen a good handful of them."

"And if it's just that?" Daryl asked.

Doc shook his head.

"If it's just that? Fluids and rest is all she needs," Doc said. "A lot of rest. Especially with the little one coming soon."

Daryl nodded his head.

"I'd still be much obliged if you was to see fit to ride out there," Daryl said. "Make sure that's all it is. Do whatever it is that you can do for her."

Doc nodded at him and moved around his small office, gathering things together.

"Of course I will," he said. "I just don't want you to worry too much in the meantime. Lots of people are showing up sick right now."

"They might be," Daryl agreed. "But they ain't but one I'm worried about."

"I understand," Doc responded. "I'm ready to go whenever you are. I just have to pick up my wagon from the livery."

"You go on ahead," Daryl said. "If you think you can find the way. I got some business to tend to here in town 'fore I ride back out."

"I can find my way," Doc assured him. "Should I wait until you get there? To discuss things and to...arrange payment?"

"You'll get paid," Daryl assured him. "But I'd appreciate you waitin' just the same. I don't imagine I'll be long."

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Andrea opened the door to the house as Daryl was mounting the steps. As she normally was when she opened the door during a business day, Andrea was wrapped in a robe. Her facial expression, though, said that she didn't think anything was normal about Daryl's calling at her house.

"Somethin' happen to Carol?" Andrea asked. "Merle?" She quickly added.

"Can I talk to you?" Daryl asked.

Andrea hesitated a moment, almost like she was choking on her words, but finally she nodded her head and waved Daryl inside.

"Come inside," Andrea said. "We can use the private sitting room."

Daryl followed her inside and followed her to the sitting room that she deemed appropriate for their conversation. He waited while she closed the curtains and then she beckoned him to sit.

"I was hopin' I weren't gonna be here that long," Daryl said. "It's just—Carol's feelin' poorly an'..."

"Did you go to Doc's?" Andrea asked, clearly concerned already.

Daryl nodded his head.

"He's ridin' out right now to check on her," Daryl said. "Prob'ly ain't much a' nothin'. Change in the weather. Some of them lil' kids come runnin' into the schoolhouse sick an' spreadin' it around. She's coughin' a little. Got a touch of warmth."

Andrea stared at him with a furrowed brow and carefully listened to every word he was saying, gently nodding her head along with the words that were escaping his lips until he almost felt uncomfortable under the attention that she was paying him. He finally cleared his throat and shrugged his shoulders at her, feeling it would be better to go ahead and tell her why he'd come since she didn't seem keen on interrupting him until he'd told her everything that there was to tell.

"Kid's gonna be comin' soon," Daryl said. "And she's feelin' poorly. I can't have her out there doin' what she'd normally be doin' 'cause I can't take no chances, ya know? On her gettin' even further down. And—well, that ain't no problem. I can do what's mine an' what's hers too if I gotta do it, but..."

He broke off, not sure how to find the words to continue and starting the question whether or not he'd done right by coming there in the first place. Andrea pressed him to finish.

"But?" She asked.

Daryl licked his lips.

"But if I'm doin' what I gotta do? I can't be lookin' after Carol," Daryl said. He shook his head. "I can't be with her an'...takin' care of everythin' else. If we need the doc? I gotta leave her to go for him. We all alone out there an' there ain't nobody else 'less I run to Hershel lookin' for someone, but it's still me leavin' her. There ain't nobody he can spare neither to just...be there."

Andrea nodded her head.

"What do you want me to do?" Andrea asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Hell if I even know I'm askin' the right thing or not," Daryl said. "But—how much to pay one a' your girls to come an' just tend to Carol?"

"Tend to her?" Andrea asked.

"Upfront, right?" Daryl asked. "That's what you wanna know. What I'm expectin' up front. Somebody what's able to come an' stay. Sleep there 'til the baby comes. Do for Carol what needs doin'. Keep her company when they ain't nothin' to do. Maybe—some cookin' if they can? Cleanin'. If they can't—I'd be fine with payin' 'em just to be there so she ain't alone when I can't be with her. So—so I don't gotta worry about her when I can't be with her."

Andrea licked her lips and then she laughed to herself.

"You want to pay one of my girls to keep your wife company?" Andrea asked. "Genuine company?" Daryl swallowed and nodded his head, not entirely sure if that's what he wanted or not. He wasn't certain what he wanted. The plan had sounded better in his head than it sounded when it was coming out of him. "You want to pay one of my girls for some peace of mind," Andrea said. "Is that it?"

"I can't be ever' damn where at the same time," Daryl said. "I wanna be with her, but I can't. Not if I'ma keep everythin' else going too. I promise that there ain't no funny shit goin' on. Just—I don't know how else to get a body except to buy one." Andrea laughed to herself and shook her head. She clucked her tongue. "You think I'm crazy," Daryl said.

"No," Andrea said. "It just might be the sanest thing I've heard today." She sucked in a breath. "Tell you what. You ride on back out to the farm. Check in with Doc. Make sure things are OK. I'll see what I can do around here and—by the time night falls? There'll be someone there. But, Daryl?"

"What?" Daryl asked, his stomach sinking at just the very second he'd started to find some relief at the thought that he might have someone to help him split up some of the worry.

"She ought not to stay in your house," Andrea said, shaking her head. "It's gonna be hard enough to keep people from talkin' too much if she's there—but stayin' in your house? Sleepin' under your roof? I know who's comin'. You just go ahead an' you set somethin' up in the barn. She'll be comfortable—in the hayloft. It won't matter. Long as it's dry."

"She'll catch her death of the cold," Daryl said.

Andrea laughed.

"If it's dry she won't," Andrea said. "Leave her some blankets out there."

"I ain't askin' some girl to be winterin' hard in my barn with the cold comin'," Daryl said.

Andrea shook her head.

"Whores are made of tougher stuff than you think, Daryl," Andrea said. "It's got a roof and she's got some blankets? She'll be more at home than she prob'ly was wherever the hell she was living before she got to Eden. You just make a place. She'll lie in it."

"I don't give a damn what people say," Daryl said with a sigh. "They done said all they gonna say an' more. I'm sick to death of worryin' with 'em. Buy the wheat I'm sellin' and the cows I'm sellin' 'cause you need the stock an' the price and quality's good. The rest of it? They can jack they jaws 'til bulls grow teats."

"Still," Andrea said, "you make her a place. If you decide together that you don't care? That's your business. But if anybody asks? At least you can say she has a place and she ain't in your home. Even if it's an untruth. You said it yourself, there ain't nobody out there to know the fact. But—make her a place at least. Last thing you want comin' back on you is people sayin' you got a house for whores."

Daryl laughed to himself, in spite of himself, but he nodded his head.

"Yeah," he said. "Alright. But I ain't puttin' her in no barn. I'ma pay her whatever you decide is fair. And—she can stay in our old house. It ain't gettin' used none no way. It might as well be put to good use."

Andrea nodded her head and squeezed Daryl's arm.

"You go check on Carol," Andrea said. "I'll take care of things. I promise you'll have some help by nightfall."

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"I'm fine," Carol insisted. She'd been insisting that the entire time that Daryl had wrestled her away from the stove and back to the bed. He'd cooked supper, but the smell of it had roused her and she'd insisted on serving him if she'd already done what she considered the indecent act of letting him cook. Now Daryl was sitting on the side of the bed, next to her, but she was still trying to get out of it—even though the moving around just kept stirring up fits of hacking that she couldn't get under control in a hurry.

"You're sick," Daryl said, keeping his hand pressed flat against her chest to keep her lying down. She gave up the struggle and, instead of fighting with him, simply brought her hand up to rest over his. "An' you don't get no better if you don't lay your ass down an' focus on gettin' better. Doc said they ain't nothin' but waitin' this out, but you're waitin' it out in the bed where it's plenty warm."

Carol shook her head gently at him.

"I can't do that," Carol said. "You need me to do things here. That's what I do. I'm your wife."

Daryl nodded his head at her.

"I need you to do things," he said. "An' you a good wife, but even good wives get low sometimes. I can handle what's gotta be done 'round here 'til you breathin' right again. Don't do you no good tryin' to do things when you gettin' winded just gettin' to the stove."

Carol smiled at him.

"A lot of that's the baby," Carol said. "Just heavy. Takes my breath sometimes."

"Prob'ly do," Daryl agreed. "But I hear you wheezin' where you lay, too. Doc said you gonna be alright, but you gotta stay down. Get some rest. Drink a lotta water. Sleep an' keep ya feet up. Take what he give you. That's what'cha gonna do 'til you feelin' better. He said baby's comin' in a couple weeks anyway. You can stay right here an' wait it out."

"Who's gonna cook for you?" Carol asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You like beans an' biscuits good as I do," Daryl said. "I can manage that. Fry up a lil' meat? Some eggs ever' now an' again. I ain't gonna starve an' neither is you."

Carol frowned at him.

"If you can do all that, then what do you even need me for anyway?" Carol asked. "If you can handle it all yourself. What'd you even need a wife for?"

"Stop," Daryl said. "Ain't about that. I'ma be more'n happy to hand it all over to you again when you're able. You just ain't able right now. You my wife, right?"

Carol nodded her head.

"As my wife? Means...they's some things you gotta do just 'cause they what I decided is best for us. For you an' me. For the baby," Daryl said. "Right?" He asked, swallowing down the fact that he didn't like having to force Carol into the position of doing nothing when she felt her hands and feet ought to be busy.

She nodded her head.

"You know I do what'cha need me to," Carol said. "What you want me to."

Daryl sucked in a breath and let it out. He heard the sound of a wagon outside, but he ignored it. He hadn't yet explained to Carol that they would have company.

"Then what I want'cha to do is stay right here," Daryl said. "Focus on gettin' better so you can do all the things you wanna do. Focus on finishin' up growin' the baby so it can come on." He ignored the sound of the knocking at the door.

"Daryl—there's someone outside," Carol offered.

"You think I don't know that?" Daryl asked with a laugh. "But I didn't get—didn't talk to you."

Carol shook her head at Daryl.

"Go open the door, Daryl," Carol said. "Don't be rude. See who it is. What they want."

Daryl shook his head.

"I know who it is," Daryl said. "An' I ain't had no chance to talk to ya."

Carol laughed to herself.

"There's plenty of time for talkin', Daryl, after you take care of things," Carol said. "Are you gonna make me get up to open the door? It ain't proper to leave nobody knocking at the door."

Daryl sighed and got up from the bed. He made his way through the house and he opened the door, trying to figure out exactly how he was going to explain everything to Carol when he returned to the bedroom to tell her about their guest. He had expected any one of Andrea's working girls to be standing there, wrapped up in traveling clothes for stepping outside the house, but he hadn't expected to see Andrea herself standing there in the plainest clothes she probably owned with a carpet bag on her arm.

She smiled at him.

"Merle came by like he does of an evening," Andrea said. "Gave me a ride." She looked back over her shoulder. The only thing Daryl saw of his brother in the failing light of the evening was his silhouette as he threw up a hand and snapped the reins on Hershel's team to take the wagon back to where he would pass the night.

"I didn't figure it was you that was comin'," Daryl said.

"I left the house in the hands of a very capable girl," Andrea said. "They'll know where to find me if things go bad. I figured—Carol might not be so comfortable with just any whore in her house."

Daryl nodded his head and smirked at her.

"Better the queen of 'em?" He asked.

Andrea smiled back at him.

"Better a friend," Andrea said. "Who's come on her own accord and out of concern—and a real desire to help if I can—instead of a workin' girl getting too damn close to her husband."

Daryl nodded his head. He was appreciative. He hadn't thought about it until he got home, but then he'd started to worry about how Carol might handle the presence of a whore in the house. She might not, after all, see his reasoning as quickly as she could see a way of misinterpreting the whole thing.

"I don't know if I can afford your rates," Daryl said. "I hear you a top dollar whore."

"I won't be accepting money," Andrea said, shaking her head. "Carin' for someone can't be bought. A roof and food has always been enough for me, really."

Daryl nodded his head. He cleared his throat.

"Don't hurt my brother's just a short distance away," he offered. Andrea smiled in response.

"It wasn't one of the downsides of taking some time off," Andrea said.

"I haven't told Carol yet," Daryl said. "I knew I needed to but...I couldn't figure out how to tell her that I asked somebody to come out here. I knowed she might take it wrong, but...I been tryin' to make her take it easy all night and that's been a fight."

Andrea nodded her head.

"Now you don't tell her," Andrea said. "Not exactly. You just tell her the truth. You were worried. You came to me, asking if I could help with keeping her company and...and maybe taking care of a few things around here to ease the strain until the baby comes. Believe it or not? I've delivered a couple of babies in my time, so I could help her while you went for Doc when it's time. And—it sounded good to me to take some time off. So here I am."

"Wish you'd let me pay you to thank you," Daryl said.

Andrea shook her head.

"I won't accept payment for this," Andrea said. "But I will accept whatever you got for supper, because it smells good."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Just some beans an' biscuits," Daryl said. "Lil' bit of side meat."

Andrea smiled.

"My stomach's aching just thinking about it," Andrea said. "Carol ate yet?"

Daryl shook his head.

"Too busy tryin' to fight me to serve it since I wouldn't let her cook it," Daryl said.

"Then I'll go get her to come and eat," Andrea said. "She can go back to bed after supper. You serve it up and...I'll talk to her."

Daryl nodded. He wasn't going to argue with her. And something inside of him told him that it wouldn't do him any good to argue anyway. Andrea was a woman who was accustomed to giving orders, not to taking them.

And she might be just what Carol needed.


	33. Chapter 33

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here. This is something of a transition chapter.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl was practically holding his breath and waiting for either he or Andrea to fall ill with what plagued Carol. When it happened, which he feared it would, Daryl really had no idea what he'd do. He was as busy as he ever was trying to keep the farm running—adding in Carol's usual tasks with his own of tending the animals that typically fell into her care—and Andrea was busy taking care of Carol and filling in for the daily tasks inside the home that she managed well enough like preparing meals, cleaning up the messes that they somehow seemed to make day after day, and keeping the fires going in the fireplaces so that nobody caught a chill from the cold that just kept coming on stronger with each passing night.

Daryl waited for the sickness to hit one or both of them, but it never came. And, slowly, it started to leave Carol. After a few nights of fighting fevers that kept her breaking into soaking sweats and shivering like she was half-frozen, no matter what they did to keep her warm, Carol's symptoms started to lessen. Slowly her eyes got a little clearer—a little more familiar to Daryl—and her breathing started to sound a little less raspy and a little less labored.

Slowly she started to come back to herself, though she didn't come back as quickly as Daryl might have liked. Still, Andrea tended to her with all the care that Daryl could have asked of the woman, so it wasn't for lack of trying. The illness had simply taken its toll on Carol and, as Andrea had explained it to Daryl, she was taking her time recovering because her body was busy splitting up its efforts between healing Carol and taking care of the new life that she was trying to prepare for the world. There was a lot for her body to do an only so much energy that it could devote to each task.

One night, finding himself unable to breathe with the heat that hung heavy in the house, Daryl went out to sit on the porch in one of the rocking chairs that was finally finished and ready for such sitting. He rolled himself something to smoke and he rocked himself while he enjoyed the normally biting chill of the wind that came through in gusts that felt like they blew straight off of ice.

He glanced back only a moment when he heard Andrea open the door to the cabin and step out onto the porch. She was wrapped in a blanket like it was clothing and she smiled at him when he looked at her.

"Look like a squaw," Daryl said. "Bundled up like that."

"Don't suppose I've ever seen one up close and personal," Andrea mused. "That other chair took?" She asked.

"Open if you want it," Daryl said. "You look like you freezin' though."

"I knew it'd be cold out here," Andrea said. "But nobody can freeze in there. Can't hardly breathe."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I told you to keep the house warm," Daryl said. "Can't nobody say you don't follow orders."

Andrea hummed at him as she settled into the other rocker.

"Part of the job, really," Andrea said. "I been followin' men's orders all my life."

Daryl hummed at her in kind.

"How long you been...well, how long you been doin' the..." Daryl paused. He wasn't sure exactly how one politely asked someone how long they'd been dedicating their life to whoring. Usually he figured it wasn't his business. Carol didn't like talking much about it and Daryl didn't like talking about it too much with Carol, either. Andrea, however, was a lot more open about how she spent her life and how she earned her money. She didn't seem to have quite the same shame surrounding it that Carol suffered from. Either that, or she'd simply come to terms with it.

"You askin' how long I been a whore?" Andrea asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I guess it ain't right to ask," Daryl mused.

"I guess it don't matter," Andrea responded. "The askin', I mean. The whorin' either, really. I can't say. I don't even remember how old I am now. Thirty? I don't know, really. It don't matter. At the time I got my start? I was—thirteen? My moons had just come on me for the first time. Worked first at a saloon outside Cheyenne. The Crystal Palace. It weren't no palace, and there weren't no crystal. Didn't care for the way the place was run. Decided when I ran my own place? Things'd be different."

"Are they?" Daryl asked. "Different?"

"You really wanna ask that question?" Andrea asked. "You want me to answer it?"

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"Wouldn'ta asked it if I didn't," he said. "But you don't gotta answer it if you don't got a mind to."

"I think things are different," Andrea said. "If you're gonna work for me? You're gonna turn a profit. I can't keep you fed, keep Doc in service, and keep a roof over your head if you don't. But—my girls...I demand they get a lot more respect than some do. We're offerin' a service. You wouldn't slug the shopkeep if he didn't have the goods you wanted. You don't slug one of my girls just because you picked poorly at the door."

"It true you got the sheriff in your pocket?" Daryl asked.

"It's true I got whoever I want," Andrea said with a laugh. "But bein' discreet is how I keep my business runnin' like it does. Man or woman. Respected, longstanding citizen or bullwhacker. What happens in my house don't get out on the street and ever'body comes through the door is treated with the same damn respect and attention as the next."

"You never married?" Daryl asked.

"No," Andrea said. She didn't offer any other information than that. She'd never been married. That was all there was to say on the matter.

"You gonna marry Merle?" Daryl asked.

"He ain't never asked," Andrea responded.

"If he does?" Daryl shot back quickly.

"Then I reckon it'll be Merle I'll be talkin' to about it," Andrea said, laughing quietly in her throat.

Daryl accepted her response. He didn't know if his brother would ask her or if he wouldn't. Merle hadn't said anything about it one way or another. He didn't even know, from words that had come out of his brother's own mouth, how he felt about Andrea. Merle wasn't one for talking about feelings. He never really had been. Daryl could barely recall him even saying too much about losing their Ma. Feelings weren't something that Merle gave voice to. The only way that Daryl had to know what his brother was thinking was by watching what he'd done. Just like he'd known it was Merle's idea that they needed to move on—step away from the life and the name that their father had given them—because he'd gotten them on a wagon heading west, Daryl only knew that Merle cared for Andrea because he came, as sure as the night did, to Daryl's cabin every night to walk Andrea to the little house that she was calling home temporarily.

And the only way that Daryl had to guess at how Andrea might feel was seeing that she went with him every night. Shacking up, in the way that they were, wasn't proper—but Daryl figured a whore who had settled into her role as well as Andrea did had little worry about what other people saw as proper.

Before Daryl could think of anything else to say—and before Andrea could fill the silence with anything either—Merle came as surely as he always did. On foot, because he had no mount of his own to speak of and he wasn't going to borrow one of the Greene's horses to do something they more than likely didn't approve of him doing, Merle came from the direction of the farm where he took his meals and made his living.

"It's a clear night," he called as a way of greeting them.

"Won't snow just yet," Daryl responded.

"It's comin'," Merle said. "Don't you worry about that. Reckon they ain't no pup yet?"

"It's at least a week off from coming," Daryl said. "She ain't even showing no signs of it yet."

Merle laughed.

"What you know of signs no way?" Merle responded.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Can't be too much difference between a woman what's gonna calf an' a heifer that is," Daryl said. "Sure the signs is there just the same. And nothin' looks to be movin'. Ain't even restless yet."

"Too tired to be restless," Andrea said. "Too weak. But still, the baby's not coming for at least a week. Things are moving, though. Starting to."

"Ain't comin' tonight, then it's time for beddin' down," Merle mused, stopping at the porch steps. At his command—and that was more or less what his words were meant to be—Andrea stood up and wrapped her blanket a little tighter around her shoulders.

"Where's your boots?" Daryl asked, glancing at Andrea's bare feet.

"Hurt too damn bad to wear," Andrea said.

"Damn feet'll freeze off," Daryl said. "You ain't got no damn sense comin' out the house without 'em."

"Never been accused of having too much of it," Andrea said. "But it isn't the first time I been outside without boots in the winter. Probably won't be the last, either."

"Come on," Merle commanded. "I got'cha."

Andrea stepped down the porch steps and Merle hoisted her up like she weighed nothing. She laughed at the movement and wrapped herself into him to make carrying her easier. Daryl laughed to himself at the sight of his brother—no goodnight offered to him by either of the two—working his way across the yard toward the little cabin with the whore in his arms wrapped up in her blanket like a bundle.

Deciding he'd seen enough for one night, and knowing the morning would come soon enough with plenty to do, Daryl got up and walked down to the barn with Toby and Shadow trotting along at his feet. They slept out on warm nights, but on the cold ones Daryl put them in the barn. They let him know, without him even asking them, that they thought tonight was cold because they ran into the barn as soon as he opened the door to offer them the chance.

Daryl checked the horses and locked the barn before he returned to the house and locked himself inside. He drank down a little of the remaining milk that they'd brought in for the evening and then he made his way to the bedroom. In the light of the fire from the fireplace, he could easily make out the bed and the lump under the covers that was his wife.

Daryl eased into bed beside her and put a hand on her neck. She was cool to the touch. There wasn't any fever. It seemed they'd seen the last of it, and Daryl hoped he was right. He eased his hand down to her belly—so swollen now that it seemed to have taken on a life of its own-and felt for movement. There were a few twitches, but nothing like the movement that had been happening before. The baby was settled down for the time being.

Carol woke while Daryl was making his explorations and shifted a little. She stretched her body gently as she came out of sleep and Daryl shushed her, sorry for having disturbed her.

"Daryl?" She asked.

"Go back to sleep," Daryl said. "That's what time it is. Time for sleepin' just as you were doin'. It ain't time for doin' nothin' else."

"You're sleeping?" Carol asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Not yet," he said. "But I come in here for that. Just—checkin' on you."

"I'm well, Daryl," Carol said. It was her answer any time he asked her how she was. Even at her sickest, she'd sworn to Daryl that she was well. Even when she'd been hallucinating that Andrea was her own Ma in the deepest of her fevers, she'd kept enough sense about her to know when she should lie to Daryl to try to comfort him. Everything was fine with her. She could handle anything if Daryl was listening.

"Not just yet you ain't," Daryl said. "But you gettin' there. Sleep on a lil' longer and tomorrow's gonna be a good day."

"It's hot in here, Daryl," Carol said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"See, I know you doin' better 'cause that's the first damn time in nearly a week that you ain't said it was cold. It's hot as hell in here, but it ain't nothin' new."

"Open a window?" Carol asked, pushing back the blankets.

"Not an' risk you catchin' cold again," Daryl said. "But I'll pull the blankets back if you want that."

"I can do it," Carol protested. Daryl didn't allow her to prove her wide range of abilities, though. He quickly moved to fold the blankets back. The sheets were soaked despite the fact that Andrea had changed them out earlier that day while Carol had been eating the lunch that she'd put out for her. They'd have to be changed again. They'd have to be washed again before the sweat soured. It was just another of the jobs that had become nearly a daily occurrence. Daryl touched Carol's face and she smiled at him in the dim light that the flickering fire cast across her face. She turned her face and kissed his hand before she renewed the smile.

Daryl smiled back because it was the first sincere smile that Carol had given him in days.

"You ain't well yet," Daryl said. "But you gettin' there. You keep on studyin' on it, too. There's a lot that's gotta be done around here. We're just waitin' on you."

"I love you," Carol said softly, her only response to Daryl's assertion that there was much coming in their near future.

"Love ya too," Daryl said.

"I have to go to the bathroom again," Carol said, starting to sit up. Daryl laughed to himself. These were jobs that were usually reserved for Andrea, but Daryl actually enjoyed the chance to take care of them himself when he got the opportunity. It made him feel like he was helping in some way rather than simply passing everything off to Carol's almost full-time caretaker.

"I'll get the pot," Daryl said, starting back out of the bed. "And then you gotta get more sleep. I'll be right here if you should find you needin' somethin'."


	34. Chapter 34

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here. There are about four more to come.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Patience. Patience was something that Daryl knew that one had to have when they were waiting for a birth. He knew little else, though, when it came to women giving birth.

When the pains first came upon Carol, Andrea had let him know in the calmest manner that he thought she could possibly deliver such information. The contractions had started. They were quite some distance apart. It would be a while, but the baby was coming eventually. And then she'd told Daryl that it was best for him to keep working for a while. She'd sit with Carol. She'd keep an eye on her. She'd let him know if anything happened.

Nothing happened—nothing except Carol's body slowly made adjustments for the birth that would take place eventually. Nothing happened that sent Andrea back out the house with more information for Daryl. It was nothing but a waiting game. It was a game of patience.

Daryl had a great deal of patience, but it wore a little thin around the edges when it came to his wife and his soon-to-be child.

Daryl did try to focus on his work, but he found that he was too distracted. Everything he did, he felt like he was doing all wrong. Work that he could usually do with his eyes closed suddenly seemed so complicated that he almost felt like he'd forgotten how to use his thumbs. Even the simplest of tasks turned into a struggle. Eventually, though he got everything done, in double the time it would normally take, that absolutely couldn't be left for the day. For all his attempts to wrap things up early and spend most of the day at Carol's side, it was still very nearly dark by the time that Daryl made his way into the house. When he got there, he expected to find Carol laboring in the bed, but instead he found something that very nearly looked like a calf roping taking place in his bedroom.

"You need to lie down, Carol," Andrea insisted. "You need to rest what you can 'cause there ain't no resting once the baby's set to come out."

Carol was walking around the room, panting, and ignoring Andrea. When another of the pains came upon her, she grabbed the windowsill and stood holding it in her hands. Daryl could see from where he was standing that her legs were shaking. Her whole body was shaking. He quickly crossed the room and held her hips to offer her some support. He looked to Andrea.

"Things movin'?" He asked.

"I don't know," Andrea said. "The contractions are more regular, but they aren't comin' too quick. Hitting her harder, though. I can't check her to see if she's progressin' because I can't get her to hold still."

Daryl turned Carol's body as the pain released her and she turned herself around to face him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and sunk into him, blowing her breath out hot on his neck. As soon as his arms were around her, she very nearly gave off entirely using her own legs for support.

"She's shakin'," he said to Andrea, even though he wasn't facing her any longer.

"She's weak," Andrea said. "Tired. When she's not trying to outrun the contractions, at least. They hurt, too. Pain'll give you the shakes if it's bad enough."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"What the hell would you know about it?" He said.

"Enough," Andrea offered in response.

Daryl swallowed, realizing that he might have very well overstepped himself. He hadn't meant to, but he was worried about Carol and was not entirely in the mood to be educated about things that didn't involve telling him how long it would be before they could put this part of it the whole thing behind them.

"Come on," Daryl said to Carol. "Let's go to the bed. Let's just—get you to the bed, OK?"

"I don't want to," Carol protested.

"You want me to hold you?" Daryl asked. "Because you ain't barely on your feet, Carol. Let's go to the bed. You gonna be more comfortable there."

Daryl didn't know if, in fact, Carol _would_ be more comfortable in the bed, but he knew that she'd at least conserve some of her energy there. He got her to the bed and she came willingly enough since she didn't seem to have the strength to fight him. Andrea helped him ease Carol down and he helped her lie back.

"You wanna check to see if things are movin' along?" Andrea asked.

"You can," Daryl said. "Hands are smaller. Not that I know if it matters."

"Right now, I guess everything matters," Andrea said. She got up and Daryl watched her as she went to wash her hands at the basin. He held Carol against him and she closed her eyes, her breathing still heavy, like she might be set on taking a nap while she had a break between contractions. Andrea returned and took her time checking Carol, shushing her gently when Carol woke enough from her pretended nap to protest being touched in any way. "There's progress," Andrea said. "But she ain't ready yet. She ain't open enough."

"She's gotta relax," Daryl said.

"That's what I've been tellin' her," Andrea said. "But she's not listening to me. Not right now."

"Oh I want you to try to relax!" Carol spat.

Andrea looked surprised and Daryl couldn't help but laugh, even though he wasn't sure which part of the situation it was that brought him the most humor—Carol's sudden need to snap at Andrea or Andrea's surprise over the bite in Carol's tone.

"You gotta relax so it'll come on," Andrea said. "Don't fight it. When your body's gotta get somethin' out like that, it's just gotta work it out. It's as natural as breathin', Carol. Just—let it happen."

Carol pulled loose from Daryl and pushed herself into a position to sit up again.

"This is a long way from breathin'!" She declared.

Daryl put his hands on her shoulders and worked the muscles there, hoping to relax her a little. It seemed to work for a few moments, and she sagged her head forward to make it easier for him, but the moment another contraction hit she was done with that and done with him. Ignoring his protests, and Andrea's too, Carol hit her feet again. She seemed half-asleep one second and ready to go to blows with the both of them the next. Bare legged and bare footed, she padded across the floor to the opposite wall and then started to pace back and forth against it—walking from one end of the room to the other.

Daryl looked at Andrea and raised his eyebrows. She shrugged her shoulders.

"What you thinkin'?" Daryl asked, lowering his voice.

"I'm thinking she needs to lie down," Andrea said. "She ain't had a chance to recover completely. Still tired from the sickness and now this? This ain't the worst of it yet, Daryl. The worst is still yet to come. She could keep on like this for hours. Days even. Could be tomorrow before the baby comes."

"It don't feel right to tie her down," Daryl said. "Feels like she oughta know what's best for her. She oughta know what she needs to and where she needs to go. She oughta know if she wants to lay down or if she'd a heap rather walk back an' forth 'cross the room."

Andrea shook her head at Daryl.

"It ain't what she wants to do that worries me," Andrea said. "It's that she needs to try to sleep some. Try to rest what she can. Closer she gets? Less she's gonna get the chance to catch her breath. I just don't want her spendin' all she's got right now."

Daryl sucked in a breath and nodded his head. He got to his feet and started toward Carol. He almost laughed when she looked at him, wild-eyed, as he approached her. For a moment, he might have been able to believe that his loving wife was as wild as any beast he might have cornered in the woods somewhere. And just like any of those beasts, she tried to escape him by walking as far away as she could from him until she finally did find herself cornered.

Carol shook her head at him.

"I don't want to lie down," Carol whined. "My back hurts."

"We'll get all the pillows we can," Daryl said. "Blankets too. We'll fix it for ya so's ya back don't hurt." Carol frowned at him and shook her head. Daryl nodded his in response. "We lookin' out for you. Lookin' out for the baby. Gonna do what's best for the both of you. Get'cha to lay down. Get'cha where your back don't hurt, OK? You gonna close your eyes an' you gonna try to rest. OK? Gonna try to get'cha some sleep if you can." He looked back at Andrea. "She eat?"

Andrea nodded her head.

"But she was sick," Andrea said. She shook her head at Daryl. "I don't think she's wantin' to keep nothin' down right now. She just keeps giving back what she takes in."

"Get'cha some rest, then," Daryl said. "Come on...Andrea'll get us some blankets and some more pillows?"

Andrea got to her feet.

"I'll get the ones outta my cabin," she said. "Everything else you got is in here. Won't take but a minute."

"Take your time," Daryl offered, stepping closer to Carol. "We got us a couple hours at least." Andrea rushed out of the room, ignoring Daryl's words that there was no need to worry, and Daryl finally closed the gap between himself and Carol. She wrapped her arms around him, finding herself caught, and sunk into him again. She rubbed her face against his neck. He could still feel her body trembling, though he didn't know if it was pain or exhaustion that was causing it. "I got'cha," he said. "Let's go back to the bed."

"It hurts," Carol said.

Daryl laughed to himself, even though he imagined that Carol wouldn't think it was very funny or decent for him to laugh.

"I reckoned it might," Daryl said. "Thought you said you wanted to do this again. Thought you said we was gonna have us a whole mess a' kids."

"We are," Carol said, still holding tight to him.

"This is kinda part of the whole thing, ain't it?" Daryl asked. "Gotta do it every time. Might as well start—gettin' used to it now."

Carol sighed and rubbed her face against him.

"I'm tired," she said. As if to illustrate her feelings, she sagged a little in Daryl's arms and he braced himself to support the extra weight. When he started back toward the bed with her, she came with him willingly. He got her to lie down again and he worked to rearrange everything he could reach to try to find some comfort for her. It wasn't easy since he couldn't even begin to imagine what might need the most support at the moment. Carol grabbed at him when another one of the pains came upon her and Daryl simply willed himself to go somewhat limp as she pulled him around her like he was as flexible as one of the feather pillows she was bending to her will. He bit his lip at the sensation of her short fingernails digging into his flesh. She didn't mean to hurt him—and if this was the hurt that he had to endure for her comfort, he figured it was the least he could do. It probably didn't compare at all with what she was going through—or what was yet to come.

By the time the pain had passed, Andrea returned with the pillows and blankets from the little house that she was calling home. She put them on the bed and Daryl tried to arrange them under Carol's legs and body to try to find something comfortable to her. She changed the position of a few of them, but nothing seemed to help a great deal. No amount of pillows and blankets could take away the pain of the impending arrival of the child.

Daryl wasn't sure how long he and Andrea stayed there in the bed with Carol, practically holding her down as she fought against herself and both of them with each of the coming pains, but they stayed long enough that darkness good and well settled in around them. And, eventually, Carol stopped fighting them with each new pain. She simply clung to the pillow that she'd gathered up for support and, much like Andrea had suggested to her to do, let it happen.

Daryl spent most of his time curled against Carol's back, almost lying on top of her. She seemed to do better with him there and he stayed in the position long enough that he almost started to sleep there, fully waking only when she did. He only truly committed to waking when Andrea got up from her position and lit a lamp in the room to save them all from the blackness that had swallowed them up.

"I almost forgot you was here," Daryl said, turning his head to watch Andrea as she washed her hands.

"I gotta check her again," Andrea said. "Contractions are comin' more regular now. Was keepin' an ear out for Merle, but he ain't come by yet. Figured we'd send him for Doc."

"You think it's time to go an' get him?" Daryl asked. "It's time for the doc?"

Andrea shrugged her shoulders and set about her work of checking Carol's progress. Carol didn't protest this time. She'd stopped protesting anything. Everything that was happening now was simply happening to her. She didn't seem so much to be an active participant as she was a victim of her circumstances.

"Is it time?" Daryl pressed.

"I don't know," Andrea said with a sigh. "I mean—the baby ain't comin' right now but I don't know if you oughta go an' get Doc anyway. It'll be time soon enough to get her to start pushin' and I can deliver it myself but...I'd rather have Doc here."

Daryl nodded at her.

"That makes two of us," Daryl assured her. He kissed Carol's face and she opened her eyes and turned her face enough to be able to look at him. "You heard what's goin' on?"

"I'm not asleep," Carol said. "I'm just—resting. Lettin' it come. That's what it is, right? Natural? And—it's gonna be this way every time."

Daryl kissed her again, right at the corner of her mouth, and when she tried to catch the kiss, he kissed her again properly.

"Maybe it's gonna get easier the next time," Daryl said.

"It will," Andrea said. "It will. That's what they always say. First time's the worst for everything."

"I'ma get the Doc," Daryl said to Carol. "You don't fight Andrea too bad an' you keep the baby in 'til we get back, OK? Don't leave her tryin' to deliver it all on her own. Merle's comin', I'm sure, but he ain't gonna be no help to neither of you. Can't even stand to help with a calf."

Carol swallowed and nodded her head.

"I think I'll stay like this," Carol said. "It's not as bad like this."

"You like stayin' like this, then this is how the hell you stay," Daryl said. He nodded his head at Andrea. "Andrea's gonna bring herself right on over here an' she's gonna take over for me holdin' ya down. Pressin' down on ya just like this..."

Andrea came over and Daryl helped the woman take his position with Carol.

"What am I doing?" Andrea asked.

"Just lay there," Daryl said. "She's likin' the pressure."

"Feels safe," Carol said. "Warm."

Daryl swallowed and nodded his head.

"You as safe as you can be with Andrea," Daryl said, "'til I get back. I ain't gonna be gone long."

"You're gonna have to go to Doc's room," Andrea said. "He won't be in his office at this hour. He's in the Grand Union. Room twelve. Top of the stairs an' to the right. Just at the top."

Daryl nodded his head and quickly wrestled his way back into the boots he'd lost earlier.

"I won't dally," he promised. "You just...keep her comfortable 'til I get back."


	35. Chapter 35

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **We have about two more to go in this one.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl stayed until he couldn't stay any longer. He stayed until his mind was running too fast for him to stand it. He stayed until he thought he might simply fall down on the floor and fail to get up again because he no longer felt in control of his mind or his body. He lied to himself. He told himself it was the heat in the room. He told himself that the warm temperatures of the house—kept that way to try and keep Carol from succumbing again to the illness that she hadn't really gotten over yet—were sucking away all his air and all his strength. He lied to himself, and then he lied to everyone else. Daryl stepped outside to get some air.

That's what he told them. He was going to get some air.

Daryl made it outside the house with a lamp. With shaky hands, he rolled a cigarette. He put it between his lips and lowered himself down to sit in the rocker. When he lifted the flame to light the cigarette, he saw his fingers trembling before his eyes badly enough that he needed his left hand just to steady his right enough to light the cigarette.

Daryl took one draw off the cigarette and quickly another, but the tobacco didn't help to calm him. It didn't soothe his nerves. It didn't make him feel any less like his chest might explode.

He flicked the cigarette over the railing of the porch to burn itself out on the ground and then he reached out and caught the railing his hands – the railing that he'd built with his own two hands. He lowered himself down onto the floor of the porch and rested on his knees. Daryl leaned his head forward, resting his forehead against the wooden spokes of the railing.

He fought back the sensation that made his throat hurt and his chest ache. He fought back the sensation that made his eyes feel a little less securely set in his head than they usually did. It wasn't proper for a man to cry. It wasn't proper for a man to let his fear push him to the point of shedding tears. Those were things that were for women, not for men.

But without shedding tears, and knowing there was nothing more that he could do in the bedroom to be of service to anyone, Daryl felt like he didn't know what to do with himself.

Daryl had never been a godly man. He'd never been a spiritual man or even much of a praying man. Sometimes he sprinkled the meals he ate with blessings that sounded like nursery rhyme versions of the ones that Hershel laid out over his meals. Sometimes he watered his fields with whispered prayers that he was sure God probably laughed at because they weren't done right—and Daryl had so little right to make requests of a God with whom he'd spent so little time.

But tonight was the first time that Daryl sincerely tried to pray, with everything he had in him, so that God would hear him if He were listening.

Daryl didn't know what to say to him, or even how to say it. He didn't know how to go about praying for a life that was more important to him than his own. He wasn't sure how to go about setting up a trade or even if God was interested in bartering. Daryl was sure that there was some order the words were supposed to come in. He was sure that there was some proper way that a man was supposed to address God—some way that would make his words heard and looked upon fondly. Daryl didn't know those details, though, so he simply said what he felt he needed to say, and he asked to be forgiven for his lack of understanding about how such things worked.

Because he didn't know anything about all those kinds of things.

All Daryl knew was that his wife was tired and she was weak. All he knew was that she was giving up the fight to even get the child born and there was still more that she had left to go through. Daryl was a strong man. His back was good. His shoulders and knees were strong. He could work all day, but he couldn't give that strength to Carol—and she needed it more than him. There was nothing that he could do to help her—and she was out of strength to help herself.

Daryl didn't really know how to pray for such things, but he knew he needed all the help he could get. Carol needed all the help that he could _get_ her. It didn't matter where it came from, she just needed it and she needed it soon.

And Daryl wasn't sure if there was such a thing as life, for him, without her—so _he_ needed her to have all the help that she could get.

Daryl rested on his knees, his head against the railing of the porch he built himself, and he muttered his possibly-incorrect prayers for so long that his knees and feet started to go numb. He stayed there long enough that the cold made his face and his hands hurt so bad that he could feel their pain over the pain that he felt drowning him from the inside.

He stayed there until he felt a hand press on his shoulder that startled and surprised him.

Daryl had prayed long and hard enough that he might have believed that some kind of angel was coming to tell him that help was on its way, but when he jerked around he found someone that, if she had been any kind of angel at all, would have been of the fallen variety.

"I'm sorry," Andrea said quietly. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"You didn't," Daryl lied. "I was just...prayin', I reckon."

"You don't know if you were?" Andrea asked.

Daryl laughed to himself, even if he didn't feel the humor, and the movement stirred up the heavy and tight feeling in his chest. He got to his feet, wincing to himself at the pain that he felt in moving his joints for the first time in such a long while. The prickling pain of blood finding its way back into his feet reminded him that he was there. The pain helped to take away a little of the odd numbness that he felt had wrapped around his brain like a spider web might wrap around his body if he walked right through it.

"Don't know if I was doin' it right," Daryl said. "You know how to pray?"

"I pray," Andrea said. "What?" She asked, raising her eyebrows at Daryl. "You don't think I can pray?"

"Just don't seem like the kinda person that would be gettin' messages through," Daryl said.

"If I heard right," Andrea responded, "it weren't just them that don't sin that gets saved. Look here. Look what I got."

She moved her arm, pulling back enough of the blanket that was wrapped around her to let Daryl know that she wasn't just bundled up against the cold in her usual fashion. In her arm, Daryl caught a glimpse of a bundle that he could assume was his child.

"That..." he started, but he couldn't finish it. His words hung in his throat.

Andrea smiled softly, the corners of her mouth barely turning up.

"You have a daughter," Andrea said. "Come inside. Hold her."

Daryl's head swam and he shook it gently, hoping to settle down his brain a little.

"Carol?" He asked.

Andrea licked her lips and looked away from him. When she looked back at him, she'd renewed the somewhat stressed smile that she'd been wearing before—a smile that he might have believed if he hadn't come to know the woman as well as he had since she'd practically moved into his home.

"Doc's with her," Andrea said. "He's lookin' her over. Spendin'—spendin' a lil' time just seein'...he's just seein'..."

The stammered mess of words that were leaking out of Andrea's mouth told Daryl far more than the words themselves. Andrea wasn't one who spent a great deal of time searching for her words. She didn't usually taste all of them before she let them out of her mouth. Her hesitation was her trying to find the right ones—and that meant that there were some words that she thought Daryl wasn't ready for. Or, perhaps, there were some words that she wasn't ready to say.

Daryl gestured back toward the door to tell Andrea to go inside. He picked up the lamp and he followed behind her, giving her some distance because he didn't fully trust his half-dead feet not to send him toppling to the floor.

As soon as they were inside, Daryl put the lamp down on the table and sat down in one of the chairs. Andrea hovered over him and shed her blanket to reveal to him the baby that she'd wrapped tightly in a much smaller blanket.

"You wanna hold her?" Andrea asked. "I washed her up. Cleaned her up good. Doc looked her over. Says she looks good, Daryl. Breathin' good. She's healthy. Cried a bit, but mostly she's set on sleeping now."

Daryl nodded his head at Andrea, not trusting his voice to come out the way it ought to come out. She passed him the baby and helped him settle the tiny infant in the crook of his arm.

Daryl stared at the sleeping baby with red skin and a slightly swollen appearance to her face. He couldn't say that she looked like him and he couldn't say that she looked like Carol. Right now, the tiny dusting of light colored hair that she had could be blonde or it could be red. The lamplight couldn't be trusted. And since Carol was redheaded and Daryl himself had been born with hair the color of cornhusk, he couldn't say even where she might have gotten that from.

But she was his daughter.

And suddenly Daryl felt overwhelmed and terrified because he was holding a daughter and he didn't know a thing about women beyond what he'd learned from his wife and her whore best friend.

Daryl looked back at Andrea had who had quietly taken a seat in one of the other chairs.

"Carol?" He asked again. He shook his head at her when Andrea glanced off to the side and opened her mouth to start another of the too-well-thought-out speeches that wouldn't tell him a single damn thing. "Don't lie to me," Daryl said. "An' don't try to paint it up like one a' your damn girls. You can't turn shit into gold, Andrea. Just—tell me the truth."

Andrea shook her head. She looked like she was moments away from tears. Daryl could see them pooling just behind her eyes, but she was fighting them back with everything she had. Maybe it wasn't any more proper for Miss-Madams to cry than it was for men.

"It don't look good, Daryl," Andrea said. "She don't look good. She don't look strong. And they was a lotta blood and I don't know but, maybe it was more'n she had to spare right now."

Daryl's heart pounded as hard as it could in his chest. He was sure there wasn't much room for it to move around, though, because his chest was squeezing it as tightly as it could.

"I got blood," Daryl said. "You got blood. Between the two of us...don't we got enough to give her what she needs? Can't she take what we got?"

"I don't know if it works like that," Andrea said. "But Doc's with her an' he's gonna do all that he can do."

"Then—go in there an' ask him if it works like that," Daryl said. "Or you hold the baby an' I'll do it myself." Daryl found that suddenly he was _angry_. He was furious at the woman sitting just near him and he knew that, honestly, he had no reason to be angry with her at all. But he needed to be angry with _someone_ , and she was the closest person that it seemed reasonable to be angry with. "You heard me!" Daryl shouted, startling the infant in his arms. "Get up an' go in there an' find out how the hell it works!"

Andrea held back her tears as much as she could, but some of them leaked out of her eyes. She hit her feet and nodded her head at him, not bothering to brush the water from her cheeks.

"The baby," Andrea said. "You gotta—be soft around her. Gentle. She don't like the yelling." She picked up the blanket she'd been wearing around her when she'd stepped outside and draped it over Daryl's shoulders like a shawl. "Pull it around you. Around her. Keep her warm, Daryl. She's little an' you don't want her catching cold."

Daryl patted the infant in his arms, tugging a little at the blanket without quite getting it around him, entirely unsure what to do with the child and growing more terrified by that fact every second.

"Go," Daryl barked at Andrea when she stepped in front of him again to try to help with the baby.

Andrea nodded her head.

"Be gentle with the baby," Andrea said. "I'll call you...to come an' see Carol when Doc says it's OK to...to call you."

It was clear she hadn't prepared the end of her words any better than she'd prepared what she'd tried to say to Daryl outside. She walked directly toward the bedroom and left Daryl where he sat at the kitchen table, trying to calm his daughter while he fought the urge to cry right along with her because he'd already upset her in the first few moments of her life, and he didn't know if he was prepared for what the rest of her life might hold.

Daryl tugged the blanket around, wrapping it over him and the baby both, hoping to soothe the little one back to sleep and keep her warm against the cold that had already threatened to take so much more from the both of them than the child could even imagine.


	36. Chapter 36

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. There's one more to go in this story.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl heard the doctor's words, but they sounded distant. They sounded like they belonged to another place or time. They sounded like the snatches of words and conversations that Daryl sometimes heard when he passed through the street and he picked up snatches of things said to other people. They existed, but they didn't belong to him. They didn't belong to his life. They couldn't.

He would just have to wait. He'd have to wait and see what happened. But the doctor didn't want to give him any false hope. From what he was hearing, it sounded like the man didn't want to give him any hope at all. Carol was just too weak. The birth was just too much for her. He didn't know if she had the strength to recover from it. If she'd have been well, things might have gone differently, but her body wasn't ready for what it had been asked to do. Time would tell, one way or another, but he didn't want Daryl to get his hopes up.

And Daryl was hoping for a miracle.

"Daryl, I'm so sorry," was all that Andrea managed to offer when he'd shut the door behind the doctor who'd declared there was really nothing more that he could do.

Daryl shook his head at her and took back the baby that she was holding.

"Ain't got time for sorry," Daryl said. "Gotta cook somethin'. Make her somethin' to eat."

Andrea nodded her head.

"I don't know if she's going to want to eat, Daryl," Andrea said.

"She'll eat," Daryl said. "Gotta. Get her strength up."

"I don't know..." Andrea started, but Daryl cut her off.

"That's right," he said. "That's just about right. He don't know and you don't know. You don't know a damn thing. I didn't ask you to know nothin' neither. Told you to get somethin' made. That's all you gotta do. Ain't gotta know a damn thing. Just gotta do what...gotta do what I told you to do."

Andrea nodded her head.

"I'll get some milk for the baby," she said, going for one of the pails that they used when milking the cows. "You don't got a bottle, but we'll moisten a cloth that she can suck for now. Tomorrow I'll go into town. When the sun's up. Get a bottle for the baby."

"Get some milk," Daryl said. "Carol'll feed the baby but—it'll help Carol get her strength up. Bring in some fresh water, too." Andrea turned around like she might argue with him, but then she clearly thought better of it. She simply nodded her head and started toward the door. Daryl called her back and she looked at him. "Put some damn boots on 'fore you step out there," Daryl said. "A coat too. You'll be ass deep in snow soon as you halfway to the barn. Last damn thing I need is you catchin' your death of cold."

Daryl didn't wait to see if Andrea put her boots and coat on or not. He didn't tell her he was sorry, which he was, for how he'd spoken to her—how he'd felt like he'd needed to speak to her. He simply took the infant with him and went into the bedroom that the doctor had only recently left.

Carol was lying in the bed with her eyes closed. The light from the fire and a lamp by the bed illuminated her face. It was dark in the room, but dawn wasn't too far off from coming. She was pale and her skin was visibly damp like it had been when the fever had consumed her before. Andrea and the doctor had changed the linens and the bed was roughly made up because there was no telling how they'd managed Carol during the process. The soiled linens were piled in the corner of the room for Andrea to take care of when the sun decided to rise on a new day.

Daryl smoothed his hand over the blankets like the poor quality job of the bed-making bothered him and then he sat gently on the mattress. Carol didn't stir. The only proof that she was even still with him was the fact that he saw her throat move as she swallowed. It looked like it pained her and Daryl touched her face with his hand.

"You want some water? Andrea's bringin' in some that's fresh," Daryl said.

Carol opened her eyes and turned her head toward him. She frowned at him and gently shook her head.

"No," she said, her voice croaking out, hoarse from the strain she'd put it through while she'd protested the act of bringing their child into the world – their daughter, a baby girl who was still so fresh to the world.

"She's bringin' you some fresh milk," Daryl said. "An' you gonna drink it. We gotta start gettin' your strength up."

"I don't think I got a lotta strength left, Daryl," Carol said. Her voice reflected her words and Daryl swallowed against the ache in his own throat that water would do little to soothe.

"Maybe you don't," Daryl said. "But you gonna. That's why we gotta build it up. Get you some milk. Somethin' to eat."

"I'm cold," Carol said. She shivered as though to illustrate her point. Daryl didn't point out to her that the house was stifling to the point that he'd unwrapped the baby a few times because the heat of her blanket drove her to fuss unnecessarily. Instead, Daryl used his free hand to pull the blankets up around Carol.

"Get'cha somethin' warm to eat," Daryl said. "Warm ya up from the inside."

"Are you unhappy that she isn't a son?" Carol asked.

"Told ya," Daryl said. "I don't care one way or another. Son's as good as a daughter an' a daughter's as good as a son. Just worried about you right now. Gettin' you up an' ready to tend to her."

"Andrea will help you," Carol said.

"She's a right good help," Daryl said. "When she ain't arguing about what needs to be done. But—I'd just as soon have you back on your feet."

Carol shook her head.

"No," Carol said. "Andrea will _help_ you. With the baby. When I can't. When I—she'll stay, Daryl. She'll help you."

"She's fine," Daryl said. "But she ain't my wife an' she ain't her Ma. So don't'cha think you passin' all the work off to her. You gonna get'cha strength back up, Carol. You gotta."

Carol just shook her head and closed her eyes. Daryl didn't accept that and he didn't accept her shutting him out, even for a second. He knew she was tired. He knew she needed to rest—it was necessary for her to get her strength back up—but he wanted to be sure that she understood it was just resting that was fine. It wasn't giving up that he was allowing.

Daryl reached his free hand out and shook her gently. Carol opened her eyes to him again. This time she looked even more pained than before. She looked like she wanted to cry, and Daryl felt the sensation all the way to his core as well.

"You gotta hold her," Daryl said. "You gotta look at her. You ain't hardly even seen her."

"I don't want to drop her," Carol said.

Daryl swallowed back his own tears, not sure how much longer he could keep them under control.

"You layin' down," he said. "Can't go but so far. I'll help you hold her. She needs it. Needs her Ma. An' you need her, too."

Carol held her hands out in Daryl's direction and he shifted the baby to her, putting the little one against her body. Carol wrapped her arms around the baby and, for all her fear of maybe dropping her, the baby seemed secure enough in her mother's arms. Carol breathed out a sigh over her daughter and when the infant stirred a little, she clucked at her.

"She's beautiful," Carol said.

"She's gonna be gettin' hungry," Daryl said. "You gotta let her suck. We just gotta bare your breasts to her an' she'll search out the teat. It's natural. Healthy. She's already been lookin' on me an' Andrea an' she ain't gonna find nothin' there."

"What if I don't have milk?" Carol asked.

Daryl licked his lips to hide his smile. He might have been imagining it because it was what he wanted to see, but he thought that, maybe, there was a bit more spark in Carol for a second than there had been before.

"You a Ma now," Daryl said. "Just like you wanted. Comes with the territory. I reckon there's enough there to get her by. Better'n suckin' some cow's milk off a cloth."

Carol fumbled with the loose shirt that she was wearing, and seeing that she was having some difficulty, Daryl leaned forward to help her.

"Lemme help ya," Daryl said. "No need wastin' what strength you got on that."

Carol let him help her. She let him help her, too, move the baby so that the little one could take suck from her. It took a moment to get it right, but the baby knew what she wanted and she rooted around enough to help her parents out when what she wanted was within reach.

Carol relaxed back into the pillow with a sigh like the work of getting the child situated had been a full day's job. She closed her eyes, and this time Daryl let her keep them closed for a moment and catch her breath. He moved his hand and rubbed it over her arm. He rubbed it over her body, covered by the blankets that would probably make him sweat more than he could stand.

"You gotta get'cha strength up," Daryl said. "'Cause she's gonna need a Ma. An' she's got one so—you just gonna have to...you just gotta. You been wantin' this so damn long that'cha can't...you just can't leave her. Not after you been wantin' it so long and you done...well, you done put in the work to get it. So now...you just gotta rest an' nuss her. Build yourself up."

Carol hummed in her throat, but she didn't speak.

Daryl heard the faint tap behind him and he turned to see Andrea standing in the door frame with a glass in her hand.

"I brought the milk," Andrea said. "The stew's gonna be a bit in coming."

Daryl nodded his head and held his hands out to her. She came forward and brought him the glass. She passed him a cloth as well.

"I see the baby's sucking," Andrea said. "But—in case you need it? It's clean." Daryl nodded. "She oughta get some rest. You too. It's been a long day for the both of you. Long night. I'll bring the stew when it's ready."

Daryl caught Andrea's hand when she turned to leave and she turned back and looked at him. She hummed in question.

"Thanks," Daryl said.

"You're welcome," Andrea said. "Cows gave me plenty enough thanks already."

Daryl shook his head.

"For the milk," he said. "But...just...thanks."

Andrea smiled softly at him.

"Get some rest," she said. "Both of you. I'll let you know when the stew's done and...I'll be here if you need anything."

"We won't be needin' much," Daryl said. "Maybe just some water?"

Andrea nodded her acceptance of his request.

"I'll bring the water," she said. "But I meant that...well, just that I'll be here if you need anything."

Daryl nodded his understanding of Andrea's words and let go of her hand so that she could leave the room. He shook Carol gently and when she opened her eyes to him, he offered her the milk.

"I don't feel like it," Carol said.

"Don't recall askin' what'cha felt right now," Daryl said. "There's plenty time for that. But as long as you puttin' it out? You gotta take it in. Here...I'ma help ya." He put his hand behind her head, letting her rest the full weight of her head in his palm. Carefully and slowly, so as to not disturb their daughter or make Carol release her hold on the infant, Daryl tipped the glass and helped Carol into a position to swallow down some of the contents. She didn't drink much of the milk, but Daryl figured that any was better than none.

He put the glass on the bedside table and, when the baby seemed satisfied, he took her from Carol to change her position and to rest her in the crook of Carol's arm. For his efforts, the baby started to cry and Daryl took her to hush her before he returned her to Carol's arm.

Carol kept her eyes closed to him now and her breathing was a little more labored than before. It was clear that just the little bit of moving around that she'd done had taken most of what she had to offer. Daryl told himself, though, that she just needed to rest. She just needed a little time. She needed to fully get over the weakness that the fever had left behind. She needed to recover from birthing the baby. She would be fine. She just needed rest and she needed care—and he could give her both of those things.

"You still cold?" Daryl asked Carol.

"Yeah," she said, without opening her eyes. "But the blankets are too much for her. She won't be able to breathe. And I'm not ready to let go of her."

Daryl swallowed against the ache in his throat. He looked at the both of them, his wife and his daughter, and he wiped at his eyes. It wasn't proper for a man to cry—but if nobody saw him, then it didn't matter.

"Then don't'cha let go of her," Daryl said. "Not now. You keep holdin' onto her. Keep holdin' on." Daryl toed off his boots and crawled next to Carol on the bed. He didn't get under the cover because he couldn't stand the warmth of the blankets, but he put his body next to hers. He arranged himself so that he could hold her against him as she held the baby. "You hold onto her and I'll hold onto you," Daryl said.

"I love you," Carol said quietly. She moved her hand to try to rearrange the blankets, but she let it fall in a second when she found the effort to be too much. Daryl caught her hand and folded it up in his own.

"Love you too," Daryl confirmed. "Don't fuss with the blanket. Close your eyes. Get some rest. I got'cha both. I'll keep ya warm. Both of ya."


	37. Chapter 37

**AN: Here we are, the last chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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 *****4 YEARS LATER*****

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Daryl pulled the wagon to a stop and commended the horses on the good job they'd done doing the same job that they did every single day. Whether or not the beasts could understand him, Daryl felt like they responded to the praise. They enjoyed it. When the wagon came to a stop, Toby and Shadow stirred in the back and came up to lean their heads over and look at him, Shadow yipping quietly for permission to get down.

"Go ahead," Daryl said to the dog. "Go get 'er."

Whether or not the dogs understood him any better than the horses did, Daryl didn't know, but the animals bounded down off the wagon and ran full throttle toward the little schoolhouse where the children were starting to file out. Most of them would run and play for a bit before they headed home. Most of them, though, were town children and didn't have quite so far to go to make it home in time for supper.

Daryl saw Sophia when she came out of the schoolhouse holding Beth Greene's hand. Sophia saw the dogs and immediately dropped Beth's hand to run toward them. Daryl heard Beth yelling at her to watch her step—and not to drop her writing tablet in the mud—and then Beth searched him out with her eyes, her hand shading her face from the sun. Finding his wagon parked under the shady trees, she smiled at him and threw a hand up in greeting. Daryl returned the gesture and cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Sophia," he called out. "Sophia! Come on!"

Sophia grinned at him then and ran toward the wagon, her furry companions bounding along with her on either side of her body. She was small at four years old, a little skinnier than some of her classmates, but Daryl assumed that her thin frame came from the fact that she was so busy. She took her after her mother, too, and her mother had always been a tiny thing in Daryl's opinion.

Daryl hopped down off the wagon just before his daughter reached him. He walked around to the back to let the back of the wagon open and he whistled for the dogs. Without any need of his help, the two animals bounded up and into the back of the wagon where they were accustomed to riding. Daryl closed the back of it before he came to find his daughter standing in mud so deep that it nearly covered her boots. She grinned up at him.

"You learn somethin' new today?" Daryl asked.

"Sure did," Sophia responded. "Lot'sa things!"

Daryl laughed to himself. No matter what Sophia learned or didn't learn at school, her response was always the same. She learned lots every day. That knowledge, under further inspection, might be that sap was sticky or frogs would piss on you if you squeezed them, but she learned lots of things.

Daryl reached his hands down and Sophia reached her arms up toward him. Daryl heaved her up out of the mud and put her on the wagon where she could take her seat to ride alongside of him. Then he got back up, clicked the reins on the horses, and steered the wagon toward home again.

"We gonna see Papa Hershel?" Sophia asked.

"Not right now," Daryl said. "Goin' home." Sophia whined to herself. "You had some kinda plans?"

"I gotta check on Jute," Sophia said, speaking about a donkey that was set to foal at any time. Hershel had promised the foal to Sophia as a pet—and her first riding animal when it was broken—and she was damn near worrying Jute to death over giving up her baby.

"Jute ain't foaled today," Daryl said. "But I got a surprise for ya that I bet'cha gonna like ten times better'n that ole donkey."

Sophia wriggled a little on the wagon seat and Daryl reached a hand over, resting it over her skinny leg to hold her in place.

"It's a puppy?" Sophia asked.

"You got two damn puppies back there," Daryl said. "We ain't runnin' no zoo."

"They big ole dogs," Sophia pointed out. "An' Sam's got a puppy an' Daddy it's so lil' bitty you oughta just see it."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I seen a puppy before," Daryl said. "Believe it or not? Them two flea bitten hounds back there was once pups no bigger'n a minute."

Sophia turned around in her seat to admire her dogs, clearly not sure if she believed Daryl. He held to her leg, making sure that she didn't go anywhere as the wagon bumped and rocked its way down the road. The horses could be as careful as they liked, but it didn't make the road any less bumpy.

"What'cha got me, Daddy?" Sophia asked.

"You gonna see, I reckon," Daryl said. "When we get on to the house."

"Papa Hershel's gonna be there?" Sophia asked.

Daryl laughed to himself. Somehow his daughter had become confident that the old man she thought of as her grandfather walked on water. Of course, the fact that he usually had a pocket full of candy and something she could ride didn't help to kill her confidence that he was one of the best men to ever walk the face of the Earth.

"Papa Hershel's comin' for supper," Daryl said. "Now sit straight. Don't want'cha fallin' off an' gettin' a mouthful of mud."

Sophia straightened up in her seat, her little tablet across her lap with her homework written on the front page in Beth's handwriting, and Daryl moved his hand up to pat her head before he slid her over against him, hugging her as he rode with her toward the farm.

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Daryl's home was only quiet at night. Any time the sun was out, it was a busy place. Today was no different than the rest. The moment that he pulled the wagon to a stop, Sophia was squirming to get down.

"Papa Hershel's here!" She called, seeing the old man's rig tied up.

"That ain't'cha Papa," Daryl said. "That's your Granny. But wait'll I get the wagon tied. I'ma get'cha down."

Daryl got down off the wagon and quickly tied the horses to one of the posts that he'd put out for just such a thing. Nugget and Jubilee were well trained enough, honestly, that he could leave the reins free without fear that they'd go anywhere, but he didn't like to take chances, especially when there were other "friends" of theirs in the yard that they might decide to simply have a little play time with.

The dogs abandoned the wagon before Daryl could get Sophia down and the two mutts went running off, down toward the cow pastures, chasing something that only they could see. Daryl held his hands up to his daughter and hugged her against him, when she gave herself over to him, instead of putting her feet on the ground. He carried her into the cabin and smiled when he saw his brother sitting at the table worrying the hell out of a toothpick that was little more than a splinter.

"You holdin' the whole place down?" Daryl asked, putting Sophia's feet on the floor.

"They done banished me out here," Merle said. "I'm about ten minutes from just goin' back to help Hershel an' leavin' the whole damn mess."

"I wanna see Papa Hershel!" Sophia said quickly, practically running over to attach herself to her uncle.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"He ain't goin' nowhere, Soph. An' neither is you. Done told you, Papa Hershel's comin', just give him time," Daryl said. "We can come back?" Daryl asked, calling down the hallway toward the back of the house where the bedroom he knew to be occupied was located.

Andrea came out, slowly making her way down the hallway.

"You can come back any time you like," Andrea said. "We been wondering when you would."

"I been wonderin' when you was gonna sit the hell down," Merle barked out in Andrea's direction. "Worryin' me to damn death."

Daryl laughed at his brother. He was new to the whole idea of being married. He and Andrea had only seen one winter of not living in sin together. He was, as well, especially new to the whole idea of being a father. Andrea, for her part, was so swollen with child that Daryl had to admit he was as nervous as Merle that the little one could come any minute. She looked like she'd given all a body could give and all that was left to happen was for her to simply explode.

But Daryl also knew that women and babies had a way of deciding together when they were going to do anything. Watching and waiting didn't do much for anyone. Andrea would have the baby when she was good and ready to do it. And, more than likely, it would come at the most inconvenient time possible for all of them.

"Easy brother," Daryl offered. "We ain't lost a Dixon yet." He leaned and caught Andrea's elbow before he kissed her cheek. "Take a load off, though. Sit a bit. You done enough here an' you need to catch ya breath for he decides to come on out where you standin'."

"How do you know it's a boy?" Andrea asked, rubbing her hand over the swell of her stomach.

"I got a hunch," Daryl said. "And I ain't hardly never wrong. Soph? Come on...got somethin' to show ya."

Sophia followed Daryl, stepping a little harder than she had to as she clomped down the hallway behind him. He led her to the bedroom, but he put a hand on her shoulder and guided her in first when they got there. Immediately Sophia saw Miss Jo—her dear Granny who was just a step below Hershel in her eyes—but slowly her eyes settled on what Daryl wanted her to see.

"Mama!" Sophia called out, running toward the bed. "I got a baby!"

Miss Jo reached a hand out and caught the girl's shoulder to slow her before she could leap onto the bed.

"Easy now, Soph," Miss Jo said. "I know you don't remember when Matthew was born, but you don't need to be jostlin' your Mama too much."

Daryl walked over and scooped Sophia up, gently depositing the overenthusiastic four year old on the bed. She crawled forward to where Carol was and Carol offered her a cheek to kiss before she displayed the newborn for Sophia to examine.

Daryl leaned across his daughter and offered his lips to his wife and she enthusiastically kissed him, nipping at his lower lip when she pulled away from him.

"I miss much?" Daryl asked.

"Just Andrea giving Merle a couple of heart attacks," Carol said.

"She needs to settle down," Daryl said.

Carol laughed in her throat and shook her head.

"She's fine," Carol said. "That baby will be here within the week and Andrea's healthy as a horse."

Daryl raised his eyebrows at Carol.

"And you?" He asked.

She smiled and nodded her head at him. He saw her throat bob. He'd felt like he was holding his breath the entire time that she'd spent bringing their son into the world just a year or so after his sister had come and nearly scared him to death. When his son had been born healthy, and left his Mama just as strong as she'd been before his arrival, Daryl had unashamedly fallen on his knees and thanked a God that he spent a lot more time talking with now than he once had.

Daryl never forgot the feeling of nearly losing Carol and, in many ways, he was thankful for that too. It kept him from taking for granted the little things that he feared he might have otherwise just accepted as a "given" part of his marriage to her.

Their daughter—Grace, the second to be born to them—had only come that morning. The same as every morning, Miss Jo had left, with Matthew riding along for fun, to see Sophia off to school. Merle was there with Daryl, working the fields that they shared—their plot expanded now that both of them were working full time toward shared goals. And Andrea was in the house with Carol tending to the little things that had to be done there after an early breakfast. With both women ready to give birth at any moment, Daryl and Merle stayed close to home and neither knew what to expect when Andrea had come out the house calling for help. But it wasn't for herself that Andrea was raising the alarm. It was Carol who was sure their baby was coming. She'd been right. Grace had come, and she'd come quickly with Daryl and Andrea as the only ones there to help ease her transition into the world. Now she lie in her mother's arms, looking angry at the world, while her sister doted on her. Sophia couldn't remember when her brother had been born, but she'd been excited about the impending arrival of her sister and her cousin.

Daryl reached his hand out and touched Carol's cheek and she affectionately leaned her face into his palm before she turned her head and kissed his hand.

"You sure?" Daryl asked. "That you OK?"

"I'm fine," Carol said softly. She glanced at Sophia, her hand somewhat creating a barrier that served to remind the girl that babies—no matter what animal they came from—had to be handled with gentle care. "She's perfect, isn't she?"

"Just like her Ma," Daryl said. "You good for a bit? Lemme run out to the farm an' get Hershel an' Matthew? Was gonna send Merle out, but I think he's too busy trailin' Andrea to make sure she don't just drop that pup while she's walkin' around doin' things she ain't got no business pickin' at."

Carol laughed.

"Go," she said. "We're fine."

"Daddy?" Sophia asked. "I can go with you to Papa Hershel's?"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You been waitin' all this time to get you a baby and now you up and done with it?" Daryl asked.

Sophia looked at Carol, wide-eyed and questioning over whether or not her desires were wrong or right. Carol nodded her head at her and affectionately smoothed Sophia's hair.

"Your sister isn't going anywhere," Carol said. "Go get Papa Hershel. Tell him all about her."

Sophia grinned and turned quickly to scramble off the bed. Afraid she'd accidentally kick Carol or the baby, Daryl grabbed her up as quickly as he could and tossed her over his shoulder. She squealed and Carol shushed anyone who was listening as the sound startled the baby.

"Sorry," Daryl said. "Sorry...we goin'. Get her fed an' happy. We comin' back."

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The night had fallen entirely around them. It was a quiet night. It was mostly warm with just a hint of coolness to the breeze that blew every now and again. Hershel and Miss Jo had stayed for dinner and then they'd left before the little ones went down to sleep so that Sophia and Matthew would actually agree to sleep instead of begging to stay up for just a bit more.

Daryl waved Andrea away from her attempts to wash the dishes and shoed she and Merle both out the door, though it wasn't difficult to get Merle to go once Andrea was moving. He trailed her like a hound, constantly searching her out for any sign that she was about to make him a father. Daryl followed them out to the porch and watched as Merle quietly helped Andrea onto the wagon and then walked around to seat himself. The distance they had to travel between their cabin and Daryl's was less than a half a mile. It would have been an easy walk on a nice night, but Merle wasn't taking chances—and Daryl couldn't blame him.

It seemed that for Daryl's brother, the memory of what had happened when Sophia was born was as burned into his mind as it was into Daryl's. He wasn't taking chances, and Daryl would never tell him to take them. There were some things in life that were far too precious for chance.

When they drove off, Daryl walked down to the barn and checked his horses, bedded down for the night. He locked the barn and walked to the edge of the pastures with Shadow and Toby trailing him at his heels. Carrying over the still of the night, he could hear the lowing of the cattle and the distant sound of his brother saying something to Andrea as they slowly made their way home. Daryl whistled to the dogs and headed back to his own cabin, the windows lit up by the lamps that he'd left burning. Leaving the dogs to sleep on the porch, just the way they liked it on such a fine night, Daryl let himself into the cabin and locked the door.

Daryl put the water on the stove and waited for it to warm a bit before he took it off and carried the pot in his hand. He picked up the glass of fresh milk that he'd poured earlier for Carol, just in case she might want it during the night, and he blew out all the lamps. He didn't need light to make it through the layout of the house that he'd built himself.

Carol had been out of bed a few times already, and she was standing at the crib when Daryl came into the bedroom.

"Get back in the bed, woman," Daryl said.

Carol shushed him and smiled at him over her shoulder.

"She's sleeping," Carol said.

"She's gonna do that a lot," Daryl said. "Gonna be awake a lot too, so you gotta sleep while you can." He sighed and sat down on the bed, starting to peel himself out of his clothes. "Just seen Merle an' Andrea off. She's gonna drop that baby 'fore two days is up. You mark my word on it. Showin' all the signs an' Merle knows it. He can smell it on her."

Carol laughed quietly and returned to her side of the bed. Daryl picked the pot of water up and circled around the bed, bringing it to Carol before he dipped one of the clean rags into it. He gestured at her that she should come out of her clothes, and he helped her get her shirt over her head. She had already shed everything else in anticipation of her bath.

"I hope she waits," Carol said. "I'm tired, but I'd like to be able to help."

"You're tired?" Daryl asked, his breath catching in his chest.

Carol smiled at him and closed her eyes to the sensation of him wiping her down with the wet and soapy cloth.

"I'm tired," she said. "But that's all it is. I'm just—tired."

Daryl nodded his understanding at her when she opened her eyes to him again. She reached like she might take the second cloth from him to offer him a bath by her own hands, but Daryl shook his head at her. Normally he would let her do for him, but tonight he was doing for her. He washed himself quickly and shivered at the chill that the water raised on his skin as it cooled down.

"Cold?" Carol asked.

Daryl laughed to himself at his own shivering.

"We ain't too deep into fall yet," Daryl said. "But it's comin'. Be startin' the fires in here 'fore long."

Carol hummed at him and held her arms out in his direction. He stepped forward and she wrapped herself around him, planting a kiss on his stomach before she pressed her face against the spot that she'd just kissed. He kneaded her shoulders affectionately in his hands.

"Come to bed," Carol said.

Daryl abandoned her long enough to move the water away from the bed and cross the room. He eased under the blanket on his own side of the bed and blew out the lamp. In the darkness, he felt Carol tugging gently at his shoulder. He turned to her and she found his lips with her fingers and offered him a kiss that he gladly took and returned with enthusiasm.

"Hold me," Carol said quietly, trying not to wake the tiny infant that would, no doubt, be awake soon and searching for her mother's milk. "I'll keep you warm."

"Yeah," Daryl said responded quietly, curling his body next to Carol's. "You always do."

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 **AN: I hope that you enjoyed this little story. My thanks to everyone who read. Without you, I'm writing just for myself, and it's so much nicer to share with friends. A special thanks to everyone who read and reviewed for letting me know that you were reading and keeping the momentum up to keep the story going!**


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